" I love to see a man forget 



His blood is growing cold. 

 And leap, or swim, or gather flowers, 



Oblivious of his gold, 

 And mix with children in their Bport, 



Nor think that he is old. 



*' I love to see a man of care 



Take pleasure in a toy ; 

 I love to see him row or ride, 



And tread the grass with joy, 

 Or throw the circling Salmon-fly 



As lusty as a boy. 



" The road of life is hard enough, 

 Bestrewn with slag and thorn ; 



I would not mock the simplest joy 

 That made it less forlorn, 



But fill its evening path with flowers, 

 As fresh as those of morn." 



