Robert Seymour Bridges

Shorter Poems. Book IV. 25. “Say Who Is This with Silvered Hair”

    Say who is this with silvered hair,
      So pale and worn and thin,
    Who passeth here, and passeth there,
      And looketh out and in?

    That useth not our garb nor tongue,
      And knoweth things untold:
    Who teacheth pleasure to the young,
      And wisdom to the old?

    No toil he maketh his by day,
      No home his own by night;
    But wheresoe’er he take his way,
      He killeth our delight.

    Since he is come there’s nothing wise
      Nor fair in man or child,
    Unless his deep divining eyes
      Have looked on it and smiled.

    Whence came he hither all alone
      Among our folk to spy?
    There’s nought that we can call our own,
      Till he shall hap to die.

    And I would dig his grave full deep
      Beneath the churchyard yew,
    Lest thence his wizard eyes might peep
      To mark the things we do.