WHEN you are very old, at evening You'll sit and spin beside the fire, and say, Humming my songs, "Ah, well, ah well-a-day. When I was young, of me did Ronsard sing." None of your maidens that doth hear the thing. Albeit with her weary task foredone, But wakens at my name, and calls you one Blest, to be held in long remembering. I shall be low beneath the earth, and laid On sleep, a phantom in the myrtle shade, While you beside the fire, a grandame gray, My love, your pride, remember and regret; Ah, love me, love, we may be happy yet, And gather roses, while 'tis called to-day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEAR ELIZABETH: (FOR ELIZABETH DIFIORE) by KAREN SWENSON THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN THE DYING WORDS OF STONEWALL JACKSON by SIDNEY LANIER SONNET: 116 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE LIP AND THE HEART by JOHN QUINCY ADAMS |