Classic Poem

Well, who are you? And how did you come there?
I must have nodded, drowsing in my chair,
Although I could have sworn I hadn't slept
Or even winked an eyelid, but had kept
My eyes set steadily upon the glow,
Dreaming of fires burned out so long ago —
Ay, long ago! But you, when did you come?
Why do you stand there smiling, keeping mum?
I felt no draught blow from the opening door,
And heard no footsteps on the sanded floor.
Why don't you speak, young man? — for you are young —
That much I see, and surely you've a tongue?
And young men should be civil to old men.
What, you won't answer? Please to leave me, then,
To my own hearthside — please to go away.
You'll be an old man too yourself some day;
And you'll be sorry then, you will, my son,
To think you stood there grinning, making fun
Of an old man's afflictions, an old man
Who once was young too when the red blood ran ...
But who you are I can't make out at all.
Why do you cast no shadow on the wall
When the high chair you lean upon throws back
A shadow on the whitewash sharp and black?
There's something half-familiar, now the flame
Lights up your face — something that when you came
Was passing through my mind ... I can't recall ...
Ah God, what's happening to Nicholas Hall
When he can see his young self standing there
Mocking his old self huddled in a chair?