OH, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory, And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'T is but as a dead flower with May-dew be-sprinkled. Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'T was less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I, was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love and I felt it was glory. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 71 by OMAR KHAYYAM LUCY (4) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH INTO THE TWILIGHT by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FOOTLIGHT MOTIFS: 2. PHOEBE FOSTER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 15 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING DA CAPO by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER EPITAPH ON NICOL OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH by ROBERT BURNS |