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...SCHOOLS OF LITTLE FISH by MARVIN BELL ON THE INFLATION OF THE CURRENCY, 1919 by ROBERT FROST THOUGHTS OF A TINY PIG by DAVID IGNATOW CHARLOTTE CORDAY (REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL, JULY 17, 1793) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: THE VILLAGE ATHEIST by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |