Old Times

Out in the morning
For a speed of thought I went
And a clear thought of scorning
For home keeping; while downward bent
Grass blades with dewdrops
Heavy on those delicate
Sword shapes, wonder thereat
Brightening my first hopes.
A four hours' tramping
With brisk blood flowing
And life worth knowing
For all that something
Which let happiness then
Sometimes not always
Breath-on-mirror of days
And all gone now, Since when?