PASSAGE

I look back toward the distant years
So far, the long perspective gives
The cloudy image in the mirror
Such a narrow frame, it scarcely lives.

And yet, around the towers, the swifts
Still soar and dive, and there, on high,
My pensive early years persist.
My old vineyards give me good wine today.

Of fortune, good or bad, I have no hint.
For now, I grasp the present; though I know
What I know, I do not stint my verve.

The future, meanwhile, I observe
Diminishing for me, with delicate grace,
More difficult, more fragile, and more scant.