To that floatsome time
Before life had wrung the joy from me
And mangled me, leaving me old.
Spring laughed in October--
Then I knew:
I am my own touchstone; I am youth.
I lifted my head
And hurled a challenge--
The moon and stars hearing
Danced down to the lake
And bathed in its beauty.
I, myself, looked in its mystic mirror:
I saw no lines of age--
Youth looked back at me from my eyes
And my lips were tremulous with June.
