Archive for June 17th, 2013

Monday, 17 June 2013

Old Age by Frederick Tennyson

As when into the garden paths by night
One bears a lamp, and with its sickly glare
Scatters the burnished flowers a-dreaming there,
Palely they show like spectres in his sight,
Lovely no more, disfurnished of delight,
Some folded up and drooping o’er the way.
Their odours spent, their colour changed to
Some that stood queen-like in the morning light
Fallen discrowned : so the low-burning loves
That tremble in the hearts of aged men
Cast their own light upon the world that moves
Around them, and receive it back again.
Old joys seem dead, old faces without joys;
Laughter is dead. There is no mirth in boys.

From: Tennyson, Frederick, The Shorter Poems of Frederick Tennyson edited with an Introduction by Charles Tennyson, Macmillan and Co: London, 1913, p. 209.

Date: 1913 (published)

By: Frederick Tennyson (1807-1898)