I KNOW not why, in my old age, That I am poor and in distress; A vigorous prisoner in a cage, Alert in mind, with health to bless; Ripened in years, with wiser ways Than in my callow youthful days. I am forsaken—in the cold, Only because I have grown old. What matters that, in worldly strife, I lead an upright, temperate life— Have vital sap in all my veins And summer lightning in my brains— What matters that I still can write Up to my once meridian flight— To every plea one tale is told: "We want you not; you are too old!" But God knows why I am forlorn: There is a better brighter land Where Lazarus, in eternal morn, Sees Dives with his burning brand. Thus helmeted with Faith and Hope, I cheerly wait the coming end, Content on this poor earth to grope, So I, one day, to God ascend! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AND THE GREATEST OF THESE IS WAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON NEEDLE THREADER IN NEED OF A NEEDLE by DARA WIER THE BIGLOW PAPERS: 6. THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AFTERNOON ON A HILL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY LET HER SLEEP! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS FIDELIA ARGUING WITH HER SELF ON THE DIFFICULTY FINDING TRUE RELIGION by JANE BARKER |