YEA, I am he that dwelt beside this tomb. <br />I was a child. God smote me from the sun. <br />A little while, I had forgot to run <br />Under the rain-sweet roof of almond bloom. <br />I had forgotten summer, and the flaw <br />Ruffling the gray sea and the yellowed grain. <br />Now I am old and I forget again, <br />But a man came and touched me, and I saw. <br /> <br />Long years he dowered me with imperial day, <br />Bright-blossomed night and all the stars in trust. <br />Now I am blind again, and by the way <br />Wait still to catch his footsteps in the dust. <br />Surely he comes?–and he will hear my cry, <br />Though he were stricken and dim and old as I.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bartimeus-grown-old/
