FOR what is old you nothing care -- 'Antiques,' you say, but leave you cold; And yet the sun that gilds your hair Is more than many aeons old. The very song I hear you sing Is little but a variation Of some foregone primaeval thing -- Some early mortal inspiration! Ah, never say you hate the old, It always hides the new within it; 'Twill last until the stars are cold, The other only stays a minute! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO GOD THE FATHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD EPITAPH ON A HARE by WILLIAM COWPER LIFE'S MIRROR by MARY AINGE DE VERE THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE by ROBERT SOUTHEY LOCKSLEY HALL by ALFRED TENNYSON SONNET TO THE MOON by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE REV. GILBERT WAKEFIELD by LUCY AIKEN THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): THE MOVING ROCKS by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |