AGE

There grows an old after the early light

That swells and shrinks in melancholy hues:

Each green excess that copper autumn rues

Remembers under snow the swirling flight

Of swallows, and the starlings’ cloud of fright

Disturbed by creeping frost. No ring-dove coos

In the laborious mornings where death woos

The unsuspecting soul surprised by sight.

Age is a burden borne up a long hill,

Lit by the sunset’s glory on the stones

And trees , warmed by the final rays.

Memories fade, new views come to amaze

Eyes vexed and tired, eternal tones

Now swell and grow: His vast, advancing Will.

The image is of St Ado of Vienne (d. 875 AD), today's saint.