Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight By Charles Mackay |
| 3 |  |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX.. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXXV. |
| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
| LXXXVIII. |
| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
| XCI. |
| XCII. |
| XCIII. | XCIII. NEVER GROW OLD.
|
| XCIV. |
| XCV. |
| XCVI. |
| XCVII. |
| XCVIII. |
| XCIX. |
| C. |
| CI. |
| CII. |
| CIII. |
| CIV. |
| CV. |
| CVI. |
| CVII. |
| CVIII. |
| CIX. |
| CX. |
| CXI. |
| CXII. |
| CXIII. |
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
 | CXXVII. |
| 3 | CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
 | Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight |  |
122
XCIII. NEVER GROW OLD.
I looked in the tell-tale mirror,
And saw the marks of care,
The crows' feet and the wrinkles,
And the grey in the dark-brown hair.
My wife looked o'er my shoulder,
Most beautiful was she,
“Thou wilt never grow old, my love,” she said,
“Never grow old to me.
And saw the marks of care,
The crows' feet and the wrinkles,
And the grey in the dark-brown hair.
My wife looked o'er my shoulder,
Most beautiful was she,
“Thou wilt never grow old, my love,” she said,
“Never grow old to me.
“For age is the chilling of heart,
And thine, as mine can tell,
Is as young and warm as when first we heard
The sound of our bridal bell!”
I turned and kissed her ripe red lips:
“Let time do its worst on me,
If in my soul, my love, my faith,
I never seem old to thee!”
And thine, as mine can tell,
Is as young and warm as when first we heard
The sound of our bridal bell!”
I turned and kissed her ripe red lips:
“Let time do its worst on me,
If in my soul, my love, my faith,
I never seem old to thee!”
| Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight | |