Sir Ronald leaned back in his easy chair;
He gazed abroad on the prospect fair.
On the soft, white carpet of new-fallen snow;
On the ermined branch with its gems aglow.
Snow white those locks of the threescore and ten
Yet, smooth is that brow as of younger men.
He beareth his years with a right good will,
And life floweth on as a placid rill.
For though evening's sun is well nigh set
His heart holds the dawn of the morning yet.
From memory's treasures of years gone by
He portrayed scenes for the mental eye,
Wondrous experience by land and by sea;
Fain would I tell as he told it to me.