Judge me not harshly, agèd man and blind,
If in my rude, brief song, I fail to bring
Aught worthy of thy worth. I cannot sing
All I have seen of thy unworldly mind.
Thy clouded eyes; thy silvery hairs; thy kind
And calm deep-thoughted countenance; thy smile
Of generous confidence, which beams midwhile
With quiet mirth, and memories unconfined;
Thy child-like love of poetry refined;
Thy thirst for Nature's melodies; thy light
Of soul which burns behind the external night;
Thy tolerant piety; thy heart resigned,
Make thee a rare example, and our pride
Is humbled to behold thy blindness glorified.