I’ve been with old men
Shadowy and slow,
Men dead and buried
A long while ago;
But the songs that they sang me,
Grave songs and sweet,
Held me the whole day
Stretched at their feet.
Fire danced, and water
Whirled to the tune;
Laughter went ringing
Down the long noon.
But oh, what I loved most
Was not song at all!
Not the rich cadence,
The silvery fall
Of passionless voices
Kept me in thrall;
But the unquenched ardor,
Pitying, wise,
That lit their frail features
And flamed in their eyes
With a flame that transfigured
Starlight and dew—
The deep peace of old men
When singing is through.
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