An old man once saw I,
Bowed low was he with time,
Heart-frosted, white with rime,
Ready and ripe to die.

Upon a cliff he stood,
Above the sea's unrest;
His beard broke on his breast
In venerable flood.

And suddenly there came
From far, with airy tread,
A maiden, round whose head
There burned a wreath of flame.

Ah God, but she was fair!
To look were to disdain
All other joy and pain,
And love her to despair.

" I come, " she cried, in tone
Like sweetest siren song;
" Though I have tarried long,
I come, my own — my own!

" See, Love, 'tis love compels
These kisses, priceless, rare;
Come, let me crown thy hair
With wreathed immortelles. "

The old man answered her —
His voice was like the sea:
" Comest to mock at me?
Mine eyes are all ablur.

" Thou art too late. In sooth,
Naught earthly makes me glad.
Where wert thou in my mad,
My eager, fiery youth? "

" Nay, grieve not thou, " she said,
" For I have loved full oft,
And at my lovers scoffed,
Alive, to woo them dead. "

" O fiend, " I cried, " for shame! "
Yielding to wrath's surprise.
She turned. I knew the eyes
And siren face of Fame.