When we are old and these rejoicing veins br Are frosty channels to a muted stream, br And out of all our burning their remains br No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream, br This be our solace: that it was not said br When we were young and warm and in our prime, br Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead, br Sleeping away the unreturning time. br O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love, br When morning strikes her spear upon the land, br And we must rise and arm us and reprove br The insolent daylight with a steady hand, br Be not discountenanced if the knowing know br We rose from rapture but an hour ago.br br Edna St.