When I am old, and comforted,
And done with this desire,
With Memory to share my bed
And Peace to share my fire,
I’ll comb my hair in scalloped bands
;;Beneath my laundered cap,
And watch my cool and fragile hands
;;Lie light upon my lap.
And I will have a sprigged gown
;;With lace to kiss my throat;
I’ll draw my curtain to the town,
And hum a purring note.
And I’ll forget the way of tears,
;;And rock, and stir my tea.
But oh, I wish those blessed years
;;Were further than they be!