The evening now became his time of life.
Its shadows were around him. Were they friends?
These faded colours in the garden, half
Touched with light, reminded him of lands
Where he had travelled as a youth. How time
Took everything away, then, gently, brought
It back, more lavish than before. The same,
Yet not the same, for it was here in thought
Alone. When young he had the future; now
The past. A bad exchange? He could not tell.
The past he had was not the past he knew,
But lighted, like these roses, by a sun
That, waning, drew all harshness out. The fall
Was now his season. The leaves were almost down.