YOUTH now flees on feathered foot. Faint and fainter sounds the flute, Rarer songs of gods; and still Somewhere on the sunny hill, Or along the winding stream, Through the willows flits a dream; Flits, but shows a smiling face, Flees, but with so quaint a grace, None can choose to stay at home, All must follow, all must roam. This is unborn beauty: she Now in air floats high and free, Takes the sun and breaks the blue; -- Late with stooping pinion flew Raking hedgerow trees, and wet Her wing in silver streams, and set Shining foot on temple roof: Now again she flies aloof, Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't By the evening's amethyst. In wet wood and miry lane, Still we pant and pound in vain; Still with leaden foot we chase Waning pinion, fainting face; Still with grey hair we stumble on, Till, behold, the vision gone! Where hath fleeting beauty led? To the doorway of the dead. Life is over, life was gay: We have come the primrose way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRINGTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TIME AND THE PERFUME RIVER by KAREN SWENSON A POET'S WELCOME TO HIS LOVE-BEGOTTEN DAUGHTER by ROBERT BURNS BRAID CLAITH by ROBERT FERGUSSON ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE by THOMAS GRAY SYMPATHY by HENRY DAVID THOREAU |