Three-score? and must we grant it so? Why, then Thank Heaven we have tasted life thus long, For life is rich, and shall grow sweeter when Like mellowing wine age renders it less strong. We shall grow old together, count the years, Welcome each sunrise and each setting sun; Together laugh our laugh or weep our tears, Wait, act and suffer, till the sands be run. I owned Golconda and the Coast of Pearl, Being a boy--it was but yesterday; One shared my fortune, giving hers--one girl-- Whither, my darling, fled youth’s dream away? Where are the morning and the wealth of spring? Gone with the air-built castle--vanished, gone! The dew of youth went sunward, and the wing Is broken now that soared at golden dawn. It is too late for riches, land and gold; Too late to pluck the flaming rose of power; My hands have bled to gather what they hold-- Buds of dead hope--ambition’s phantom flower. Yet all I am I dedicate to you, As on our spousal morning, Love, and bring This heart-born offering to pledge anew, In Autumn song, the promises of Spring. AMAUROTE. Safe in towery Amaurote Now I dwell; From the tumbling sea my boat, Like a bell of foam afloat, Up Anyder’s refluent stream Voyaged well; And I woke unto a dream Realized in realm remote Of Utopia. Whiles my eudæmonian guide Thrummed her lyre, Charmful o’er the billows wide, In the distance I espied Gleam of opalescent dome, Golden spire; Then my soul foreknew its home Far beyond the roaring tide, In Utopia! All was sooth as poets old Gave renown; All that seers and sages told, Fabling of an Age of Gold;-- Towery Amaurote was there, Blissful town! Far away from everywhere, Flushed with rosy light, behold! In Utopia. Visioned splendor reared from naught Rose sublime; Art and Beauty thither brought All Imagination taught Of the mystery of Man And of Time; Wisdom, smiling on the plan, Bade the wonderwork be wrought, In Utopia! Have I eaten of the lote So its spell Laps and lulls me to devote Hours Lethean, far remote From the dreadful things that be? Nay, I dwell Where o’er dream-deeps Poesie Sang me, in a foam-bell boat, To Utopia. THE END