The Golden Age

Long ago the world was finer⁠—
  Why it failed I do not know:
All the virtues were diviner;
Robber, miser, and maligner
  Had not been created. No,
  Truth and honor flourished, though.
      Long ago.

Sages in procession stalking
  Moved majestic to and fro,
And each lowly mortal walking
In their shadow stilled his talking,
  Heeding the sonorous flow
  Of their wisdom, loud or low,
      Long ago.

Angel Woman, younger, fairer
  Far than she that now we know,
Gave men meeting with a rarer
Grace. No graybeard cried, “Beware her
  Tongue and temper!” She was slow
  To wrath. I tell you that was so,
      Long ago.

Ah, the miracle of morning.
  Setting all the world aglow
Like a smile of light adorning
God’s own face, held no forewarning
  Of the tempest that would blow⁠—
  Sign and prophecy of woe,
      Long ago.

Hope from every hilltop beckoned
  To the happy throngs below;
And they confidently reckoned
On a hero every second.
  Best of all that goodly show,
  I was but a laddie⁠—O,
      So long ago!