Dinah is young, and I am old; She takes two cushions to attack Me, and her kisses close my eyes; She combs my hair, that still is black. Ah, my poor child, you do not know The state of your live doll; When you are gone out shopping, he Sits thinking of it all. The cushion-fights will soon be done, He'll need a pillow for his head; And fingers, not your kisses, love, Must close his eyes, when he lies dead. You'll not sit laughing on his knee To comb his hair when white as snow, Or when a few thin hairs remain Of all its tangled blackness now. Blinded by his young spirit, you Can see no signs that he must die: Your doll, my child, will make of you A serious woman, by and by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RESOLUTION OF DEPENDENCE by GEORGE BARKER BEPPO: A VENETIAN STORY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON RIDDLE: SEWING NEEDLE AND THREAD by MOTHER GOOSE A NYMPH TO A YOUNG SHEPHERD, INSENSIBLE OF LOVE by PHILIP AYRES DEAD AUTUMN by BEULAH ALLYNE BELL AN EPITAPH ON MR.WM. HOPTON by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |