I FEEL that I am growing old,
Nor wish to hide that truth,
Conscious my heart is not more cold
Than in my by-gone youth.

I cannot roam the country round
As I was wont to do;
My feet a scantier circle bound,
My eyes a dimmer view.

But on my mental vision rise
Bright scenes of beauty still,—
Morn's splendour, evening's glowing skies,
Valley and grove and hill.

Nor can infirmities o'erwhelm
The purer pleasures brought
From the immortal spirit's realm
Of feeling and of thought.

My heart! let no dismay or doubt
In thee an entrance win,
Thou hast enjoy'd thyself without,
Now seek thy joy within!