THE NEW FACES
 
 IF you, that have grown old, were the first dead,
 Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime
 Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread
 Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of Time.
 Let the new faces play what tricks they will
 In the old rooms; night can outbalance day,
 Our shadows rove the garden gravel still,
 The living seem more shadowy than they.