I know it must be winter (though I sleep)— I know it must be winter, for I dream I dip my bare feet in the running stream, And flowers are many, and the grass grows deep. I know I must be old (how age deceives!) I know I must be old, for, all unseen, My heart grows young, as autumn fields grow green When late rains patter on the falling sheaves. I know I must be tired (and tired souls err)— I know I must be tired, for all my soul To deeds of daring beats a glad, faint roll, As storms the riven pine to music stir. I know I must be dying (Death draws near)— I know I must be dying, for I crave Life—life, strong life, and think not of the grave, And turf-bound silence, in the frosty year.
This poem is in the public domain.