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.