He was young—and he saw the South : The bird and the rose were there,
And the god with the lifted look And the laurel in his hair.
Before him a palace stood;— And the shy wind moved the lace,
And showed by the torch of a dream A woman's wonderful face.
He was old—and he saw the North : The mountains were fierce and bare,
And piteous swords of ice Were thrust at him from the air.
A rim blackened the moon ; And in that forlornest place,
Wasted with famine and tears, Was, a woman's awful face!