Seven

If on water and sweet bread Seven years I'll add to life, For me will no blood be shed, No lamb know the evil knife; Excellently will I dine On a crust and Adam's wine. If a bed in monkish cell Well mean old of age to me, Let me in a convent dwell, And from fellow men be free; Let my mellow sunset days Pass in piety and praise. For I love each hour I live, Wishing it were twice as long; Dawn my gratitude I give, Laud the Lord with evensong: Now that moons are sadly few How I grudge the grave its due! Yet somehow I seem to know Seven Springs are left to me; Seven Mays may cherry tree Will allume with sudden snow . . . Then let seven candles shine Silver peace above my shrine.