 | Poems |  |
Be thankful, grumbler at thy shortened span,
There is not giv'n, save to one wretched Man,
Time to exhaust his earth-life, and, mature,
Foolish unlovely childhood long endure!
The simple first-born people lingered slow,
The movement quickens as the ages grow,
Till one year teaches more than ancient ten,
And in proportion shrinks the life of men.
The Age that views its World with piercing ken,
Dooms it.
There is not giv'n, save to one wretched Man,
Time to exhaust his earth-life, and, mature,
Foolish unlovely childhood long endure!
The simple first-born people lingered slow,
106
Till one year teaches more than ancient ten,
And in proportion shrinks the life of men.
The Age that views its World with piercing ken,
Dooms it.
But stiffened in the cramp unscope,
I have, methinks, grown weary ev'n of Hope;
Of what a future world may have in store
Half-tired in prospect, be it worst or best.
I see no good in anything but rest;
Silence and dreamless rest for evermore.
I have, methinks, grown weary ev'n of Hope;
Of what a future world may have in store
Half-tired in prospect, be it worst or best.
I see no good in anything but rest;
Silence and dreamless rest for evermore.
| Poems | |