My years to come are numbered on two hands, Ten fingers do the trick, and that is all; Yet when this Cuckoo's dead, and comes no more, Shall I not live to hear his grandchild call? So when I give a year-old dog my heart, With three-score years and more, and he so young – Judged by our life we live on equal terms, Because his life is short, while mine is long. To end this logic with that bird again, Be it enough to say I hope one thing – That I'll be here when this contemporary's dead. Ten Aprils hence, to hear his grandchild sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST by WILLIAM DUNBAR CHRISTMAS IN INDIA by RUDYARD KIPLING DAMON THE MOWER by ANDREW MARVELL PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 3 by EDWARD TAYLOR SONNET: A PREACHER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH CELEBRATION ODE by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN AUNT CAROLINE by ANNYE LEWIS ALLISON |