This ugly old crone -- Every beauty she had When a maid, when a maid. Her beautiful eyes, Too youthful, too wise Seemed ever to come To so lightless a home, Cold and dull as a stone. And her cheeks -- who would guess Cheeks cadaverous as this Once with colours were gay As the flower on its spray? And who would believe Life could bring one to grieve So much as to make Lips bent for love's sake So thin and so grey? O Youth, come away! All she asks is her lone, This old, desolate crone. She needs us no more; She is too old to care For the charms that of yore Made her body so fair. Past repining, past care, She lives but to bear One or two fleeting years Earth's indifference. Her tears Have lost now their heat. Her hands and her feet Now shake but to be Shed as leaves from a tree, And her poor heart beats on Like a sea -- the storm gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOLDIER'S DREAM by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE DONG WITH A LUMINOUS NOSE by EDWARD LEAR IN YOUTH IS PLEASURE by ROBERT WEVER TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS OUR WEAKNESS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS QUATORZAINS: 10. TO POESY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE STREET LAMP by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |