If ever I am old, and all alone, I shall have killed one grief, at any rate: For then, thank God, I shall not have to wait Much longer for the sheaves that I have sown. The devil only knows what I have done, But here I am, and here are six or eight Good friends, who most ingenuously prate About my songs to such and such a one. But everything is all askew to-night, -- As if the time were come, or almost come, For their untenanted mirage of me To lose itself and crumble out of sight, Like a tall ship that floats above the foam A little while, and then breaks utterly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YOUTH OF NATURE: WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE GOD'S ACRE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE HEART OF THE WOMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS JUDITH by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH NOT DEAD, BUT GONE BEFORE by ANTIPHANES A TRIBUTE TO WILL ROGERS AND WILEY POST by ROSETTA THORSON BEACHLER |