THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER
 
 ALTHOUGH I shelter from the rain
 Under a broken tree,
 My chair was nearest to the fire
 In every company
 That talked of love or politics,
 Ere Time transfigured me.
 Though lads are making pikes again
 For some conspiracy,
 And crazy rascals rage their fill
 At human tyranny,
 My contemplations are of Time
 That has transfigured me.
 There's not a woman turns her face
 Upon a broken tree,
 And yet the beauties that I loved
 Are in my memory;
 I spit into the face of Time
 That has transfigured me.