University of Virginia Library

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PICTURE.

They may talk of old age
And its pleasures who please,
Of the rosy-cheeked lad on
The grandfather's knees;
Of the granddaughter, too,
With her soft golden hair
Hanging over the back of
His great easy-chair;
But I don't quite relish
My time of the day,
Sitting here in my nightcap
Rheumatic and gray!
My grandson is surely
A nice little elf,
But then I would rather
Be boy for myself!
And I love my granddaughter,
So sweet and so shy,
But I'd rather have gold hair
Than gray, would n't I?
I can't make it seem any way
But just queer,
That I should have taken on
Year after year,
Until my broad shoulders
Bent under the strain,
And I had to prop up my
Weak legs with a cane!
And take to soft crusts,
And meal gruel and milk,
And go in a jacket
Of wool, not of silk,
And carefully garter
My fleecy-lined hose,
And keep a sharp eye to
The end of my nose!
When I think of the time
We were married, my dear,
It seems to me something
That happened last year,
And I fairly distrust both
My sense and my sight,
When I look up and see
That your head is so white!
And spite all assurance,
I can't think it's true
That I should be I, and
That you should be you!
'T is hard to receive it
And make it seem fair,
That we should be toddling
The way that we are;
But rather as if an
Exception should be
Made out and extended
To you and to me,
As if we had come to
The close of the day
Without ever having had
Open, fair play!
I know I am wrong here,
But when all is done,
The shadow will not be so sweet
As the sun.
So, let the old people
Talk fine as they please
About lives lived over
In holiday ease;
I say, what is ease worth,
Laid up high and dry,
With a great gouty toe
And a rheum in the eye?
And think, if 't were all
Just the same to the shelves,
The old folks would rather
Stand up for themselves!
And run in the race with
The sturdy-legged boys,
And share with the gay girls
Their frolicsome joys;
And, bravely defiant
Of all gouty pains,
Tear off the red flannels
And burn up the canes;
And put on the shining
And beautiful gear,
And cease to look querulous,
Crooked, and queer.
But I, after all, am not
So set at strife
With the wonderful order
And wisdom of life,
As dare, if I might, to turn
Up and turn back
The locks, thin and gray,
To the side, thick and black;
Or boldly to take the
Responsible part
Of saying, if life were
To live from the start,
I 'd render up cleaner
Account of my trust,
Or deal with my neighbor
More honest and just.
So let us, my darling,
Give praise to his name,
Who has kept us from slipping
In pitfalls of shame;
And, wrapt from the chill
Of the rough winter weather,
Go down the life hill
As we came up, together!
And when we no longer
Can brave the rough storms,
Just sleep in the shelter
Of each other's arms.