Sometimes I imagine that I am still young,
Like an old sleeping dog in his dreams;
His legs move, and he pants at the air with his tongue,
As he chases an object which seems
To embody the world of his hopes and desires,
And all that he ever could be—
For that vision of beauty still somehow inspires
The young animal sleeping in me.
But I know now my animal powers have waned,
And that object will never be caught,
And that dream in itself, though never attained,
Is the essence of what I once sought.
So that now I look calmly and kindly on things
That once caused a storm in my heart,
And stop to consider what each moment brings,
As if it were some small work of art.
The wind in the treetops, the laugh of a child, Or anything happy and free, Though their blessings in my life have not always smiled, Have never been sweeter to me— And that beautiful sadness we sometimes will feel, When old music will make our heart melt, Though it’s fleeting, is somehow more precious and real Than what a young heart ever felt.
Daniel Leach is a poet living in Houston, Texas. He has spent much of his life fighting for the ideals of classical culture and poetry. His volume of poetry, compiling over 20 years of composition, is entitled "Voices on the Wind."