Now that she is no longer young There is less of her In the measures of the birds; The partridges give voice Less sweetly, and the rose Grips more blackly the earth Now that she is no longer young. Now that she is no longer young Do new ships and unfinished men walk lost, The crippled dog mew at its wounds, And the sun go sick to bed each night? Does her pleading face fade away From its passion like this age Now that she is no longer young? I do not know because I am blind To crudities of the compass point Or the minor perihelions of the sun. Enzymes of their medicines cannot chart The chemic regions of her skies; The needle on the encephalograph Shakes no glory from her eye.