Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)
My Indian Summer
Here in the Autumn of my days My life is mellowed in a haze. Unpleasant sights are none to clear, Discordant sounds I hardly hear. Infirmities like buffers soft Sustain me tranquilly aloft. I'm deaf to duffers, blind to bores, Peace seems to percolate my pores. I fold my hands, keep quiet mind, In dogs and children joy I find. With temper tolerant and mild, Myself you'd almost think a child. Yea, I have come on pleasant ways Here in the Autumn of my days. Here in the Autumn of my days I can allow myself to laze, To rest and give myself to dreams: Life never was so sweet, it seems. I haven't lost my sense of smell, My taste-buds never served so well. I love to eat; delicious food Has never seemed one half so good. In tea and coffee I delight, I smoke and sip my grog at night. I have a softer sense of touch, For comfort I enjoy so much. My skis are far more blues than greys, Here in the Autumn of my days. Here in the Autumn of my days My heart is full of peace and praise. Yet though I know that Winter's near, I'll meet and greet it with a cheer. With friendly books, with cosy fires, And few but favourite desires, I'll live from strife and woe apart, And make a Heaven in my heart. For Goodness, I have learned, is best, And should by Kindness be expressed. And so December with a smile I'll wait and welcome, but meanwhile, Blest interlude! The Gods I praise, For this, the Autumn of my days.
Robert William Service’s other poems:
915
