Page:Poems, Meynell, 1921.djvu/60

From a Girl to her own Old Age Oh, hush; oh, hush! Thy tears my words are steeping.

Oh, hush, hush, hush! So full, the fount of weeping?

Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping?

Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her.

Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letter

That breaks thy heart; the one that wrote, forget her:

The one that now thy faded features guesses,

With filial fingers thy grey hair caresses,

With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses. 52