THE LOWER ROOM.

How soft the lamplight falls

On pictures, books,

And pleasant coloured walls

And curtains drawn!

How happily one looks

On glowing flame and ember;

Ah, why should one remember

Dew and dawn!

Here age and wisdom sit

Calm and discreet,

Life and the fruit of it

Are here in truth,

Whose gathering once was sweet —

Wisdom and age! Well met!

Yet neither can forget

Folly and youth!