TURNING my chariot I yoke my horses and go. On and on down the long roads The autumn winds shake the hundred grasses. On every side, how desolate and bare! The things I meet are all new things, Their strangeness hastens the coming of old age. Prosperity and decay each have their season. Success is bitter when it is slow in coming. Man's life is not metal or stone, He cannot far prolong the days of his fate. Suddenly he follows in the way of things that change. Fame is the only treasure that endures. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMIGRATION by LISA DOMINGUEZ ABRAHAM TEARS by TUMADIR BINT IBN AL-SHARID AL-KHANSA LINES TO A LADY by DJUNA BARNES THE OLD TRAMP by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER ETERNITY by GRACE GRISWOLD BISBY SUPPLICATION by MARGARET H. BRANDON ENVOI by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB ON MOORE'S LAST OPERATIC FARCE, OR FARCICAL OPERA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |