When my old heart was young, my dear,
The Earth and Heaven were so near
That in my dreams I oft could hear
The steps of unseen races;
In woodlands, where bright waters ran,
On hills, GOD'S rainbows used to span,
I followed voices not of man,
And smiled in spirit faces.
Now my old heart is old, my sweet,
No longer Earth and Heaven meet;
All Life is grown to one long street
Where fact with fancy clashes;
The voices now that speak to me
Are prose instead of poetry:
And in the faces now I see
Is less of flame than ashes.