' I LOVE to Bee 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 sport. 



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 gi-ass with joy. 

 Or throw the circling Salmon-fly 

 An 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 flU its evening path with flowers. 

 As fresh as those of morn." 



