Life is a summer's day When as it were for aye We sport and play. Anon the night comes on, The ploughman's work is done, And day is gone. We read in this one page Both Youth, Manhood, and Age That hoary Sage. The morning is our prime, That laughs to scorn old Time, And knows no crime. The noon comes on apace, And then with swel'tring face We run our race. When eve comes stealing o'er We ponder at our door On days of yore. The patient kine, they say, At dawn do frisk and play, And well they may. By noon their sports abate, For then, as bards relate, They vegetate. When eventide hath come, And grey flies cease their hum, And now are dumb, They leave the tender bud, That's cooling to the blood, And chew the cud. Let's make the most of morn, Ere grey flies wind their horn, And it is gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD MAN AND JIM by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY MINIVER CHEEVY by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE GYPSY by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS WOMAN'S BEAUTY by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE THE EWE-BUCHTIN'S BONNIE by GRISELL BAILLIE TO MARY; OCCASIONED BY HER HAVING ENGRAVED ON A SEAL 'FORGET ME NOT' by BERNARD BARTON STANZA by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT JACK FROST AND THE CATY-DID by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |