when i am old and comforted and done with this desire with memory to share my bed and peace to share my fire i ll comb my hair in scalloped bands beneath my laundered cap and watch my cool and fragile hands lie light upon my lap and i will have a sprigged gown with lace to kiss my throat i ll draw my curtain to the town and hum a purring note and i ll forget the way of tears and rock and stir my tea but oh i wish those blessed years were further than they be 