Long time a child, and still a child, when years Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I; For yet I lived like one not born to die; A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears, No hope I needed, and I knew no fears, But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep, and waking, I waked to sleep no more, at once o'ertaking The vanguard of my age, with all arrears Of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man Nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is grey, For I have lost the race I never ran, A rathe December blights my lagging May; And still I am a child, tho' I be old, Time is my debtor for my years untold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROLLING ENGLISH ROAD by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON THE LAST RAFT by JOSEPH V. ADAMS THE MORAL FABLES: THE FOX AND THE WOLF by AESOP LINES PLACED OVER A CHIMNEY-PIECE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD VIA LUCIS by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN PESCHIERA by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 19. WILLIAM BAILEY by GEORGE CRABBE |