The Retreat.
Against my lonely latter years
I'll build a faery home for me —
Proof against sorrow with its fears,
And age with its adversity.
Within a region bosomed high
Above the ways of worldly men,
In a demesne where by-and-by
I oft shall come and go again.
Ah! there my home in a green nook
Shall sweetly stand the siege of time,
Where Thought may read his riddle-book
As to the murmur of old rhyme.
And faery footings still shall lead
My feet among mesmeric ways,
Where life is like a dream indeed,
And all the days are summer days.
But sylphs and fays and simple things
Shall murmur in my pensive ear,
Until the change shall come that brings
Me and my world to ruin here.
poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
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