A wearied Pilgrim, I have wandred here Twice five and twenty (bate me but one yeer) Long I have lasted in this world; (tis true) But yet those yeers that I have liv'd, but few. Who by his gray Haires, doth his lusters tell, Lives not those yeers, but he that lives them well. One man has reatch't his sixty yeers, but he Of all those three-score, has not liv'd halfe three: He lives, who lives to virtue: men who cast Their ends for Pleasure, do not live, but last. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELF-INTERROGATION by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE ROSE AND THORN by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE CREPUSCULE DU MATIN; SONNET by AMY LOWELL FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE by MATTHEW PRIOR I SHALL NOT CARE by SARA TEASDALE |