High summer’s tyranny has loosed its hold;From their hot zenith my desires descendTo genial af

High summer’s tyranny has loosed its hold;From their hot zenith my desires descendTo genial afternoon. Though I grow old,Autumnal ripeness comes before the cold.The hostile sun, with whom I would contend,Tempers his lustful fire, and as a friendInaugurates my evening years of gold.I, who could not give up the world, go free:This irreligious world renounces me.Ignored in peace and decently neglectedTill I am safely dead, I lay no claimTo riches, privilege, prestige, degree,Nor crave the flaring fraudulence of fame,But work unknown, my only wealth the Name.Harold Stewart -- source link

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