Once, when I wandered in the woods alone, br An old man tottered up to me and said, br “Come, friend, and see the grave that I have made br For Amaryllis.” There was in the tone br Of his complaint such quaver and such moan br That I took pity on him and obeyed, br And long stood looking where his hands had laid br An ancient woman, shrunk to skin and bone. br br Far out beyond the forest I could hear br The calling of loud progress, and the bold br Incessant scream of commerce ringing clear; br But though the trumpets of the world were glad, br It made me lonely and it made me sad br To think that Amaryllis had grown old.