Long time a child, and still a child, when years Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I; For yet I lived like one not born to die; A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears, No hope I needed, and I knew no fears, But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep, and waking, I waked to sleep no more, at once o'ertaking The vanguard of my age, with all arrears Of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man Nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is grey, For I have lost the race I never ran, A rathe December blights my lagging May; And still I am a child, tho' I be old, Time is my debtor for my years untold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 7. OF PLEASURE AND PAIN by THOMAS CAMPION AN EPITAPH ON M.H. by CHARLES COTTON THE HYMNARY: 403. MARTYRS by ADAM OF SAINT VICTOR THE BANISHED LOVER by ABD AL-RAHMAN AL-MUSTAZHIR THE PAGODA by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A PARAPHRASE ON THE COLLECT FOR ADVENT SUNDAY by JOHN BYROM TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE DEAD COMRADE by EDWARD CARPENTER THE CONSPIRACY OF CHARLES, DUKE OF BYRON by GEORGE CHAPMAN (1559-1634) |