Felix Antonius

(After Martial)

To-day, my friend is seventy-five;

  He tells his tale with no regret;

  His brave old eyes are steadfast yet,

His heart the .lightest heart alive.

He sees behind him green and wide

  The pathway of his pilgrim years;

  He sees the shore, and dreadless hears

The whisper of the creeping tide.

For out of all his days, not one

  Has passed and left its unlaid ghost

  To seek a light for ever lost,

Or wail a deed for ever done.

So for reward of life-long truth

  He lives again, as good men can,

  Redoubling his allotted span

With memories of a stainless youth.