I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me <br />Some strange old lust for deeds. <br />As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior <br />The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet <br />Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning, <br />So to my soul grown old - <br />Grown old with many a jousting, many a foray, <br />Grown old with namy a hither-coming and hence-going - <br />Till now they send him dreams and no more deed; <br />So doth he flame again with might for action, <br />Forgetful of the council of elders, <br />Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle, <br />Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him <br />So doth he flame again toward valiant doing.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-old-age-of-the-soul/
