I am worn out with dreams;

A weather-worn, marble triton

Among the streams;

And all day long I look

Upon this lady's beauty

As though I had found in book

A pictured beauty,

Pleased to have filled the eyes

Or the discerning ears,

Delighted to be but wise,

For men improve with the years;

And yet and yet

Is this my dream, or the truth?

O would that we had met

When I had my burning youth;

But I grow old among dreams,

A weather-worn, marble triton

Among the streams.