A Conversation We Talked With Open Heart, And Tongue Affectionate And True, A Pair Of Friends, Though I Was Young, And Matthew Seventy-Two. We Lay Beneath A Spreading Oak, Beside A Mossy Seat; And From The Turf A Fountain Broke And Gurgled At Our Feet. `Now, Matthew!' Said I, `Let Us Match This Water'S Pleasant Tune With Some Old Border-Song, Or Catch That Suits A Summer'S Noon; `Or Of The Church-Clock And The Chimes Sing Here Beneath The Shade That Half-Mad Thing Of Witty Rhymes Which You Last April Made!' In Silence Matthew Lay, And Eyed The Spring Beneath The Tree; And Thus The Dear Old Man Replied, The Grey-Haired Man Of Glee: `No Check, No Stay, This Streamlet Fears, How Merrily It Goes! 'Twill Murmur On A Thousand Years And Flow As Now It Flows. `And Here, On This Delightful Day, I Cannot Choose But Think How Oft, A Vigorous Man, I Lay Beside This Fountain'S Brink. `My Eyes Are Dim With Childish Tears, My Heart Is Idly Stirred, For The Same Sound Is In My Ears Which In Those Days I Heard. `Thus Fares It Still In Our Decay: And Yet The Wiser Mind Mourns Less For What Age Takes Away, Than What It Leaves Behind. `The Blackbird Amid Leafy Trees, The Lark Above The Hill, Let Loose Their Carols When They Please, Are Quiet When They Will. `With Nature Never Do They Wage A Foolish Strife; They See A Happy Youth, And Their Old Age Is Beautiful And Free: `But We Are Pressed By Heavy Laws; And Often, Glad No More, We Wear A Face Of Joy, Because We Have Been Glad Of Yore. `If There Be One Who Need Bemoan His Kindred Laid In Earth, The Household Hearts That Were His Own, It Is The Man Of Mirth. `My Days, My Friend, Are Almost Gone, My Life Has Been Approved, And Many Love Me; But By None Am I Enough Beloved.' `Now Both Himself And Me He Wrongs, The Man Who Thus Complains! I Live And Sing My Idle Songs Upon These Happy Plains: `And, Matthew, For Thy Children Dead I'll Be A Son To Thee!' At This He Grasped My Hand And Said `Alas! That Cannot Be.' We Rose Up From The Fountain-Side; And Down The Smooth Descent Of The Green Sheep-Track Did We Glide; And Through The Wood We Went; And Ere We Came To Leonard'S Rock He Sang Those Witty Rhymes About The Crazy Old Church-Clock, And The Bewildered Chimes.