Recorders Ages HenceRecorders ages hence,Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior, Iwill tell you what to say of me,Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover,The friend the lover’s portrait, of whom his friend his lover was fondest,Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of lovewithin him, and freely pour’d it forth,Who often walk’d lonesome walks thinking of his dear friends, his lovers,Who pensive away from one he lov’d often lay sleepless anddissatisfied at night,Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov’d mightsecretly be indifferent to him,Whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on hills,he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain apart from other men,Who oft as he saunter’d the streets curv’d with his arm the shoulderof his friend, while the arm of his friend rested upon him also.
Recorders ages hence,Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior, Iwill tell you what to say of me,Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover,The friend the lover’s portrait, of whom his friend his lover was fondest,Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of lovewithin him, and freely pour’d it forth,Who often walk’d lonesome walks thinking of his dear friends, his lovers,Who pensive away from one he lov’d often lay sleepless anddissatisfied at night,Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov’d mightsecretly be indifferent to him,Whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on hills,he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain apart from other men,Who oft as he saunter’d the streets curv’d with his arm the shoulderof his friend, while the arm of his friend rested upon him also.