Felix Antonius

(After Martial)To-day, my friend is seventy-five;  He tells his tale with no regret;  His brave old eyes are steadfast yet,

His heart the .lightest heart alive.

He sees behind him green and wide  The pathway of his pilgrim years;  He sees the shore, and dreadless

The whisper of the creeping tide.

For out of all his days, not one  Has passed and left its unlaid ghost  To seek a light for ever lost,

Or wail a deed for ever done.

So for reward of life-long truth  He lives again, as good men can,  Redoubling his allotted

With memories of a stainless youth.