PICTURE OF AN OLD MAN.

By William Lisle Bowles

Old man, I saw thee in thy garden chair

Sitting in silence‘ mid the shrubs and trees

Of thy small cottage-croft, whilst murmuring bees

Went by, and almost touched thy temples bare,

Edged with a few flakes of the whitest hair.

And, soothed by the faint hum of ebbing seas,

And song of birds, and breath of the young breeze,

Thus didst thou sit, feeling the summer air

Blow gently;— with a sad still decadence,

Sinking to earth in hope, but all alone.

Oh! hast thou wept to feel the lonely sense

Of earthly loss, musing on voices gone!

Hush the vain murmur, that, without offence,

Thy head may rest in peace beneath the churchyard stone.