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THE NEW FACES
If you, that have grown old, were the first dead,
Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime
Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread
Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of time.
Let the new faces play what tricks they will
In the old rooms; night can out-balance day,
Our shadows rove the garden gravel still,
The living seem more shadowy than they.
Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime
Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread
Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of time.
Let the new faces play what tricks they will
In the old rooms; night can out-balance day,
Our shadows rove the garden gravel still,
The living seem more shadowy than they.
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