To a Lady who complained of being eighty years old. WHILE you with virtue, sense, and wit combine, Doris! that youth has fled, can you complain? To-day the queen of intellect you shine, As erst o'er love 'twas yours to reign. Reflect how few find winters like your own. In leaving you your mind, Time leaves you all. Doris! you do but pass from throne to throne; Can this be named 'to fall'? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND: 2 by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE [1611] by MICHAEL DRAYTON THE IMPROVISATORE: LEOPOLD by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE COMPLETE MISANTHROPIST by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP THE WINTER SCENE by BLISS CARMAN |