The Retreat.

Against my lonely latter years I'll build a faery home for me — Proof against sorrow with its fears, And age with its adversity. Within a region bosomed high Above the ways of worldly men, In a demesne where by-and-by I oft shall come and go again. Ah! there my home in a green nook Shall sweetly stand the siege of time, Where Thought may read his riddle-book As to the murmur of old rhyme. And faery footings still shall lead My feet among mesmeric ways, Where life is like a dream indeed, And all the days are summer days. But sylphs and fays and simple things Shall murmur in my pensive ear, Until the change shall come that brings Me and my world to ruin here.