YE are young, ye are young, I am old, I am old; And the song has been sung And the story been told. Your locks are as brown As the mavis in May, Your hearts are as warm As the sunshine to-day, But mine white and cold As the snow on the brae. And Love, like a flower, Is growing for you, Hands clasping, lips meeting, Hearts beating so true; While Fame like a star In the midnight afar Is flashing for you. For you the To-come, But for me the Gone-by, You are panting to live, I am waiting to die; The meadow is empty, No flower groweth high, And naught but a socket The face of the sky. Yea, howso we dream, Or how bravely we do; The end is the same, Be we traitor or true: And after the bloom And the passion is past, Death cometh at last. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOMAN'S BEAUTY by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE FOAM STRAY by JOSEPH AUSLANDER NORTHERN LIGHTS by EINAR BENEDIKTSSON HUSBANDMAN'S SONG, FR. KING RENE'S HONEYMOON by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THREE WOMEN: FIAMMETTA by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR A DIALOGUE, OCCASIONED BY MARCH OF HIGHLANDERS INTO LANCASHIRE, 1745 by JOHN BYROM THE PROPHET by MYRTLE W. CAMPBELL SONG; THE SENTIMENTS BORROWED FROM SHAKESPEARE by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) |