I saw him, old and wrinkled, go
Across the silvered country snow,
And at his feet a dusky shade
laughed and clapped and played.

"Old man!" it cried. "Lift up your head!
Cast off from you this ancient dread!
For age and youth can mingled be;
come, laugh and play with me."

The old man paused; I heard him wheeze,
"Oh, listen now, you reckless breeze!
You cannot judge but with one eye
that which has gone by."

I thought, appalled, "But, there is truth:
To be at heart always a youth,
And mock the frailities of the flesh
with elan firm and fresh!"

I watched the spirit hover near
To bend and whisper in his ear,
"Old man, did you not once avow
that which I say now?"

The old man turned his wizened head
And in a murmur softly said,
"Such idle fancies, it would seem,
are nothing but a dream.

"An empty promise cannot stop
The aches I feel, the joints that pop,
But can turn all that cannot be
into serenity."

He then ignored the spirit's cries,
But pain now filled his weakened eyes:
A yearning that could not be still....
I felt a sudden chill.

"He gives in to defeat!" I cried.
The shade drew back, and merely sighed:
A sound wrenched forth from bleak despair,
then was but empty air.

I vowed that I would not let slip
My soul into so frail a grip,
Then watched the man who labored on.
He stopped beside a pond,

And stood there, stooped and lined and sere,
And then let fall a single tear.
It dropped upon that tiny sea,
where was reflected, me.

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