124
SONGS OF EXILE
If into seventy years his life-way wends,
His words are heard no longer; 'tis his fate
To go unheeded. Now upon his friends
Only a burden, he becomes a weight
On his own soul,
And on the staff that bears him to his goal.
(For in the end
He shall return:
As at his birth he was,
So shall he be.)
At eighty years, then is he but a care
Upon his sons; his heart is no more his,
Nor his thoughts with him; only he is there,
Scorned of his neighbors. Yea, his portion is
Gall to the brim,
And wormwood is the morsel now for him.
(For in the end
