So thanks again; in after years
That down the slope of time will range,
With fading hopes and many fears,
And the slow certitude of change.
When fancy veils with folded wing
Her dreamless eyes, and drops her wand,
She will not stoop to lift and bring
One vision from her fairy land.
When the dull blood takes languid pace,
And all the weary brain will tire;
When thoughts but kindle up a space,
Then flicker like a sinking fire.
When looking backward here we see
A narrow strip of dusty road,
Now dim within the past, that we
From boyhood up to manhood trod.
Along that road were toil and strife
And clang from dusky things of steam,
But still to sweeten all that life
Was something of the poet's dream.
And this made all things sweet and fair,
Touched the hard hours with glowing light;
Made other sunshine in the air,
And moonshine on our dreams by night.
What though those dreams of heart and brain
Have fled with all the goals they miss;
The toil was nothing—rather gain—
When it has led us up to this.
And so in after years, when I
Am busy with the fading past,
And dreaming as the shadows fly,
Like ghosts, from sinking embers cast,
Then it may be that, looking on
This other self, my thoughts will range
And whisper to myself alone,
'Thou changest,' this can never change.
And gazing still at what I see,
The past with all this night shall blend,
Until it fades and leaves with me
The dream-face of each kindly friend.