Tell me any, any, tell me your name for grief. Hope's glittering arrow sped, bright cities fallen, Love lost? Why, any of these hurts is brief. Know you not the most pitiful and sullen? Age, dreadful age, this of all ills is chief. Comic we writhe while fast the noonday dims. Bends the slim sceptre of the body's beauty. Age mocks the eager pattern of our limbs, Setting a rigid compass to our duty. Our daring flickers to an old man's whims. What could more cruel be, in any fashion? Brain and flesh falter, and the heart alone Burns on. The terrible unslackened passion Of a young girl shakes in the withered crone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHISPERS OF IMMORTALITY by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT TO AN UNBORN PAUPER CHILD by THOMAS HARDY POLWART ON THE GREEN by ALLAN RAMSAY OH, LOVE THOU TOO! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS A MIDNIGHT MEDITATION by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN HOOKER'S ACROSS by GEORGE HENRY BOKER ON THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD TO MISS ANNA MARIA TRAVERS. AN EPISTLE FROM SCOTLAND by CHARLOTTE BRERETON |