I am worn out with dreams；

    A weather-worn， marble triton

    Among the streams；

    And all day long I look

    Upon this lady‘s beauty

    As though I had found in a book

    A pictured beauty，

    Pleased to have filled the eyes

    Or the discerning ears，

    Delighted to be but wise，

    For men improve with the years；

    And yet， and yet，

    Is this my dream， or the truth？

    O would that we had met

    When I had my burning youth！

    But I grow old among dreams，

    A weather-worn， marble triton

    Among the streams.