XLVI) To J.R. H.
Master, whose blinded sight
Is eager still;
Master, whose love of light
Age cannot kill;
Time was that I would pray
To have for mine
After as fair a day
Sunset like thine.
But every passing year
That turned a page
Has taught me how to fear
A barren age,
And now I seek to die
Long, long ere then,
And being dead to lie
With the young men.
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