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MMiy;in jut aMojioznr.IlepeK.'iajiab. JI. BOKIilHW INTERThy youth i.s over; time has broughtW inter upon thee; hope is grownChill as the north wind; thou a rt old.Sit thou in thy dark house alone;With 110 man converse shalt-thou hold,With 110 man shalt lake counsel; nought.Nought a rt thou, nought be thy desire.Sit still alone by thy dead fireTill hope shall mock thee fool, again,Blinding thine eyes with frosty gleams,Vexing thy soul with dreams, with dreamsLike snowflakes in the empty plain.Sit thou alone, alone and dumb;Cry not, for Spring, it will not come.It will not enter at thy door,Nor make thy garden green once more,Nor cheer with hope thy withered age,Nor loose thy spirit from her cage. ..Sit still, sit still! Thy life is spent;Nought a rt thou, be with nought content.[ 18001 T. L. Voynich72