 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
125
YOUNG-HEARTED.
As by an effort only, reckoning o'erThe fleeting years, and lives of other men,
How life creeps on apace, and why and when
Its changing phases should affect us more,
We guess and gather doubtingly: for me,
(Startled at times mine equals old to see,)
My heart is young as ever, full of mirth
And buoyancy, too light and fresh and free
For dignities and pompous tricks of earth;
So hath it been till now,—so let it be,—
And not grow grave: thrice happy is the man
Whose spirit, feeling a Tithonic birth,
Never grows old, rejoices where it can,
And cares no more for Time than it is worth.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |