Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)

TWENTY years hence my eyes may grow

If not quite dim, yet rather so,

Still yours from others they shall know

Twenty years hence.

Twenty years hence tho’ it may hap

That I be call’d to take a nap

In a cool cell where thunder-clap

Was never heard.

There breathe but o’er my arch of grass

A not too sadly sigh’d Alas,

And I shall catch, ere you can pass,

That wingèd word.