If I Were To Be Old, As Old As The Grey Hills Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

If I were to be old, as old as the grey hills
That every even line the red of dusk
Then many more a line of the Muse’s inspiring
Would I on my harp with my pen sing.

Old as the trees as those that grave-yards line
Or brave the winds aloft some mossy hill
Or rising buried above some olive dale
In Greece or southern lands of content warm.

And therefore will I pray that be I be as old
As the sea-waves that make Ocean resound
On the sea-shores of distant desert lands:

Then will I sing my heart and the long tide
Of my emotions rise with the sea-waves
And Father Ocean chant every accent.