Thou never more shalt see so clear
As formerly the things a-near,
As when thy two round hills of sight
Caught all there was of heaven's light.

In youth thine eye, so true, so keen,
One leaf among its brethren green,
Keeping its dance upon the tree,
It was thy pure delight to see.

One blade of grass would catch thine eye,
One rose, 'mid roses climbing high.
Now, know them lovely in the mass,
But singly let them blend and pass.

Thine eyes are old, and they are tired;
No longer be of them required
The labor they were wont to do:
Ease them, as servants tried and true.

Still shall they serve, if thou art wise,
With longer span of earth and skies;
But know, all little things that be,
All trivial lines, must fade from thee.

And if the face of thine own friend
In the dense human stream shall blend,
Thine oldened sight, like arrow fine,
Pierces some farther, heavenly sign!

And dimmer still, in life's decline,
Things near thy vision shall divine;
But there shall be no veil, no bar,
Between thine eyes and things afar!