An Old Man Remembers (1959-60)

The owlet of imagination haunts
  My purpose of rememb'ring morning's sun,
The orbit of my feeble mem'ry flaunts
  Before my ache, the joy of life begun;
Whereat with golden peace I stood amid
  The fresh-dewed grasses and the white-veined stone,
That by false tapestry of years now hid
  Leaves me a "time past" and myself alone.
Yet were the golden times returned again,
  The times of pleasure and the golden calf
That th' Alchemist's old nightmare turned to pain
  As leaden as the void - the court fool's laugh,
Should I return to take the golden air
That bred these two true things-Age and Despair ?

D. CUMMING, L.VI.