Again I sing of thee, sweet youth: Thy hours are minutes, they can hear No challenge from stern sentinels, To wake their fear; You love the flowers, but feel no grief Because their pretty lives are brief. Nature sets no conspirators Of withered things to lie in wait And show thee with their faded charms Thy coming state; No dread example she sets thee In dead things falling off a tree. Thou seest no bones inside the earth, Thy sweat comes not of toil, but play; On thy red blossom no pale worm Can work decay; No toad can muddy thy clear spring -- Time is thy subject, thou his king! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SIBYLLA'S DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE DESPONDING SOUL'S WISH by JOHN BYROM PARTING by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE MELANCHOLY by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE BALLAD OF CHICKAMAUGA [SEPTEMBER 19-20, 1863] by JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON THE ALCHEMIST by ST. CLAIR ADAMS SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |