Alas, Alas, that I am betrayed By my flying days, it is then the looking glass, Not the mind, if self love do not tarnish it Alas that he who foolish frets in desire Not heeding the flying time Finds himself, like me, at one instant, old. Nor know I how to repent, nor do I make myself ready, Nor advise myself with death at the door. Enemy of myself Vainly I pour out plaints & sighs Since there is no harm equal to lost time | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 41 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING RAIN MUSIC by JOSEPH SEAMON COTTER JR. THE REVENGE OF HAMISH by SIDNEY LANIER KEEPING ENDLESS HOLIDAY by TITUS PETRONIUS NIGER THE TULIP AND THE LILY, SELECTION by JAMES BARCLAY PIETRO ARETINO by LUCIUS MORRIS BEEBE WILD ROSES AND SNOW by H. T. MACKENZIE BELL SANDY STAR: 2. LAUGHING IT OUT by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |