The Living Beauty

I'll say and maybe dream I have drawn content-- Seeing that time has frozen up the blood, The wick of youth being burned and the oil spent-- From beauty that is cast out of a mould In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears, Appears, and when we have gone is gone again, Being more indifferent to our solitude Than 'twere an apparition. O heart, we are old, The living beauty is for younger men, We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.