For summers seventeen...

For summers seventeen

This flower of spring

Scattered fragrance

That dwelt in its petals seventeen.

Seventeen song-hours,

A heart never weary;

A soul with honey of all flowers

A song as enchanting as stars.

A boy never grown old,

A lute never tiring to sing,

A mind ne'er chilled

Though Hunger's hand lay cold.

Steely-cold on his breast,

Yet the boy sang;

Loved as alone a poet can

Endlessly, without rest.

Just seventeen!

Ne'er old, though time passes;

A golden lyre-string

Has not yet ceased ringing:

Rings through the heart of time

O'er the summit of death

To the music of the Nine

Into the heart of Eternal Rhyme.