The Cup

A mighty cup my sires possessed,
A mighty great pewter cup.
My heart is warmed as I fill it up
And lift it on high with a zest.

Then out of the ale sighs an ancient song,
Like torches the strophes flame.
God grant that our children hear it long
While of us it murmurs the same!

An Elder Day

In solitude my life-years drift away;
I babble to my dog, I stir my fire.
I do not feel the loss of yesterday,
’Tis hours fled long sing that I desire,
When yonder bent and grizzled serving-man
Who brought my supper in was young,
When, children yet, my parents played among
The grasses, ere my life began.

Fame

You seek for fame; but I would choose another
And greater blessing: so to be forgotten
That none should hear my name; no, not my mother.