THINE elder that I am, thou must not cling To me, nor mournful for my love entreat : And yet, Alcaeus, as the sudden spring Is love, yea, and to veiled Demetia sweet. Sweeter than tone of harp, more gold than gold Is thy young voice to me ; yet, ah, the pain To learn I am beloved now I am old, Who, in my youth, loved, as thou must, in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NATURA NATURANS by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH THE HILL WIFE: THE SMILE by ROBERT FROST THE WHITE HOUSE by CLAUDE MCKAY MARY'S GIRLHOOD (FOR A PICTURE): 1 by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE LORDS OF THE MAIN by JOSEPH STANSBURY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 82 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MAIMED DEBAUCHEE by JOHN WILMOT |