Pray, tell me what blossoms gather at my feet,
And of the incense which hangs upon the bough.
My eyes are less keen,
For I am old now.
Come, take my hand and with me walk through this land,
And tell me of deeds which once were disallowed.
My legs are weakened,
For I am old now.
Come, tell me in my ear, tell me news of late.
Is all as once it was, or is all disavowed?
My hearing is dull,
For I am old now.
Come, relate once again, the days of my life,
As I sit and contemplate my youth and thou.
My heart is heavy,
For I am old now.
Now, lay me upon this bed of softest down,
I feel the hands of Angels comfort my cold brow,
I am renewèd,
For I am young now.