Woe for the young who say that life is long, Who turn from the sun-rising to the West, Who feel no pleasure and can find no rest, Who in the morning sigh for even-song. Their hearts, weary because of this world's wrong. Yearn with a thousand longings unexprest; They have a wound no mortal ever drest. An ill than all earth's remedies more strong. For them the fount of gladness hath run dry. And in all Nature is no pleasant thing; For them there is no glory in the sky, No sweetness in the breezes' murmuring: They say, 'The peace of heaven is placed too high, And this earth changeth and is perishing.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A HOLIDAY by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE NEW HEAVEN, NEW WAR by ROBERT SOUTHWELL LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 9. GOING TO THE FAIR by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM COLONIAL SET by ALFRED GOLDSWORTHY BAILEY THE MOON OF RAMADAN by MATHILDE BLIND WELCOME TO EGYPT by MATHILDE BLIND |