 | Art and Fashion |  |
251
YOUTH AND AGE.
The proudest poetry of youth
Is—“Would I were a Man!”
The golden years that lie between
Youth, like a dream, would span:
'Tis in its thought—'tis in its heart—
'Tis ever on its tongue;
But oh, the poetry of age,
It is—“When I was young!”
Is—“Would I were a Man!”
The golden years that lie between
Youth, like a dream, would span:
'Tis in its thought—'tis in its heart—
'Tis ever on its tongue;
But oh, the poetry of age,
It is—“When I was young!”
Thus, in the morn of life, our feet
Would distant pathways find;
The sun still face to face we meet—
The shadow falls behind!
But when the morn of life is o'er,
And Nature grows less kind;
The length'ning shadow creeps before—
The sunlight falls behind!
Would distant pathways find;
The sun still face to face we meet—
The shadow falls behind!
But when the morn of life is o'er,
And Nature grows less kind;
The length'ning shadow creeps before—
The sunlight falls behind!
252
With many a murmur, slow and sad,
The stream of life flows on;
That which we prized not when we had
Is doubly prized when gone!
And many a sad and solemn truth
Lies written on life's page;
Between the “Poetry of Youth!”
And “Poetry of Age!”
The stream of life flows on;
That which we prized not when we had
Is doubly prized when gone!
And many a sad and solemn truth
Lies written on life's page;
Between the “Poetry of Youth!”
And “Poetry of Age!”
| Art and Fashion | |