Sweet Youth no more will tarry, My friend a while ago; Now white's the head I carry, And grey my temples grow, My teeth -- a ragged row. To taste the joy of living But little space have I, And torn with sick misgiving I can but sob and sigh, So deep the dead men lie. So deep their place and dismal, All means, be sure, they lack Down in the murk abysmal To scale the upward track And win their journey back. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF READING MATTER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS TRIOLET: THOSE VIOLETS BLUE by H. W. BANKS SUMMER RAINSTORM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING LINES WRITTEN ON WINDOWS OF THE GLOBE INN, DUMFRIES by ROBERT BURNS TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. THE WORD DEMOCRACY by EDWARD CARPENTER LIGHT IN DARKNESS by PHOEBE CARY BLANK MISGIVINGS OF A CREATURE MOVING ABOUT IN WORLDS NOT REALIZED: 6 by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH |