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Poem	A man I praise that once in Tara's Hals Said to the woman on his knees, 'Lie still. My hundredth year is at an end. I think That something is about to happen, I think That the adventure of old age begins. To many women I have said, ''Lie still,'' And given everything a woman needs, A roof, good clothes, passion, love perhaps, But never asked for love; should I ask that, I shall be old indeed.' Thereon the man Went to the Sacred House and stood between The golden plough and harrow and spoke aloud That all attendants and the casual crowd might hear. 'God I have loved, but should I ask return Of God or woman, the time were come to die.' He bade, his hundred and first year at end, Diggers and carpenters make grave and coffin; Saw that the grave was deep, the coffin sound, Summoned the generations of his house, Lay in the coffin, stopped his breath and died.
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