I SAW him once, the while he sat and played -- A stripling with a shock of yellow hair -- His own rare songs, in mirth or sorrow made, But tender all, and fair. And as the years rolled by I saw him not, But still his songs full many a time I sung, And thought of him as one who has the lot To be for ever young. . . . I grieve with grief that to a death belongs: How Time is stern I had forgot, in truth, And how that men wax old, whereas their songs Keep an immortal youth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FORERUNNERS by RALPH WALDO EMERSON TO HIS WINDING-SHEET by ROBERT HERRICK THE CITY AT THE END OF THINGS by ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN THYESTES, ACT 2: CHORUS by LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA SILENCE SINGS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE A CANTO OF KHANS by BERTON BRALEY |