IN A EWELEAZE NEAR WEATHERBURY
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HE years have gathered graylySince I danced upon this leazeWith one who kindled gailyLove’s fitful ecstasies!But despite the term as teacher,I remain what I was thenIn each essential featureOf the fantasies of men. Yet I note the little chiselOf never-napping Time,Defacing ghast and grizzelThe blazon of my prime.When at night he thinks me sleeping,I feel him boring slyWithin my bones, and heapingQuaintest pains for by-and-by. Still, I’d go the world with Beauty,I would laugh with her and sing,I would shun divinest dutyTo resume her worshipping.But she’d scorn my brave endeavour,She would not balm the breezeBy murmuring “Thine for ever!”As she did upon this leaze. 1890. [Picture: Sketch of pair of glasses on sketch of landscape]
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