Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,

And after many a summer dies the

swan.

Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine

arms,

Here at the quiet limit of the world, A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream

The ever silent spaces of the East, Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.

Alas! for this gray shadow, once a

man

So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,

Who madest him thy chosen, that he seemed

To his great heart none other than a God!

I asked thee, "Give me immortal

ity."

Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,

Like wealthy men who care not how they give,

But thy strong Hours indignant worked their wills,

And beat me down and marred and wasted me,

And though they could not end me, left me maimed

To dwell in presence of immortal youth,

Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love,

Thy beauty, make amends, though even now,

Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,

Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears

To hear me? Let me go: take back

thy gift:

Why should a man desire in any way To vary from the kindly race of men, Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?

A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes

A glimpse of that dark world where I was born.