And art thou he, now "fallen on evil days," 
And changed indeed! Yet what do this sunk cheek, 
These thinner locks, and that calm forehead speak! 
A spirit reckless of man's blame or praise,-- 
A spirit, when thine eyes to the noon's blaze 
Their dark orbs roll in vain, in suffering meek, 
As in the sight of God intent to seek, 
Mid solitude or age, or through the ways 
Of hard adversity, the approving look 
Of its great Master; whilst the conscious pride 
Of wisdom, patient and content to brook 
All ills to that sole Master's task applied, 
Shall show before high heaven the unaltered mind, 
Milton, though thou art poor, and old, and blind! 

Added: Mar 14 2005 | Viewed: 587 times | Comments (0)

Poet: William Lisle Bowles
Poem: In Age

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