When I grow old

WHEN I grow old, 
I would be bold 
To ask of heaven this boon : 
Like the thin-circled and translucent moon, 
That makes intrusion 
Unnoted on the morning sky, 
And with soft eye 
Watches the thousand, grassy flowers unfold, 
I would be free. 
Without confusion 
Of influence cold, 
To pause and see 
The flush of youth in its felicity.