Treasure Island

Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

(14 September 1883 – 19 April 1922 / Gunnersbury, London)

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Bartimeus Grown Old


YEA, I am he that dwelt beside this tomb.
I was a child. God smote me from the sun.
A little while, I had forgot to run
Under the rain-sweet roof of almond bloom.
I had forgotten summer, and the flaw
Ruffling the gray sea and the yellowed grain.
Now I am old and I forget again,
But a man came and touched me, and I saw.

Long years he dowered me with imperial day,
Bright-blossomed night and all the stars in trust.
Now I am blind again, and by the way
Wait still to catch his footsteps in the dust.
Surely he comes?–and he will hear my cry,
Though he were stricken and dim and old as I.

Submitted: Tuesday, April 20, 2010

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  • Elizabeth Padillo Olesen (8/12/2012 2:24:00 AM)

    Passionate way of writing about the old Bartimeus. The poet is able to put himself in the shoes of this old man and feel his sorrow and hope. Good reminder of the coming old age of everyone. (Report) Reply

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