OH, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory, And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'T is but as a dead flower with May-dew be-sprinkled. Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'T was less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I, was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love and I felt it was glory. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUT NOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SONNET TO THOSE WHO SEE BUT DARKLY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO HORACE BUMSTEAD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON FROM THE AGES WITH A SMILE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SWEET CLOVER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |