A weather-worn， marble triton

    Among the streams；

    And all day long I look

    Upon this lady‘s beauty

    As though I had found in a book

    A pictured beauty，

    Pleased to have filled the eyes

    Or the discerning¹ ears，

    Delighted to be but wise，

    For men improve with the years；

    And yet， and yet，

    Is this my dream， or the truth？

    O would that we had met

    When I had my burning youth！

    But I grow old among dreams，

    A weather-worn， marble triton

    Among the streams.