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I Sit and Think


I sit beside the fire and think


of all that I have seen,


of meadow-flowers and butterflies


in summers that have been;




Of yellow leaves and gossamer


in autumns that there were,


with morning mist and silver sun


and wind upon my hair.




I sit beside the fire and think


of how the world will be


when winter comes without a spring


that I shall never see.




For still there are so many things


that I have never seen:


in every wood in every spring


there is a different green.




I sit beside the fire and think


of people long ago,


and people who will see a world


that I shall never know.




But all the while I sit and think


of times there were before,


I listen for returning feet


and voices at the door.