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.