Again I sing of thee, sweet youth: Thy hours are minutes, they can hear No challenge from stern sentinels, To wake their fear; You love the flowers, but feel no grief Because their pretty lives are brief. Nature sets no conspirators Of withered things to lie in wait And show thee with their faded charms Thy coming state; No dread example she sets thee In dead things falling off a tree. Thou seest no bones inside the earth, Thy sweat comes not of toil, but play; On thy red blossom no pale worm Can work decay; No toad can muddy thy clear spring -- Time is thy subject, thou his king! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ADAM WEIRAUCH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ELEGY: THE LAMENT OF EDWARD BLASTOCK; FOR RICHARD ROWLEY by EDITH SITWELL THESMOPHORIAZUSAE: WOMEN'S CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES EPISTLE TO AUGUSTA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON DRINKING SONG (1) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE |