THE century numbers fourscore years; You, fortressed in your teens, To Time's alarums close your ears, And, while he devastates your peers, Conceive not what he means. If e'er life's winter fleck with snow Your hair's deep shadowed bowers, That winsome head an art would know To make it charm, and wear it so As 't were a wreath of flowers. If to such fairies years must come, May yours fall soft and slow As, shaken by a bee's low hum, The rose-leaves waver, sweetly dumb, Down to their mates blow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STORY OF THE END OF THE STORY by JAMES GALVIN A FOOL, A FOUL THING, A DISTRESSFUL LUNATIC by MARIANNE MOORE MODERN PARAPHRASE OF SHAKESPEARE'S SONNET 29 by GEORGE SANTAYANA AN ODE TO THE FRAMERS OF THE FRAME BILL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS by JAMES HARRISON SOMETIMES by THOMAS SAMUEL JONES JR. AGAMEMNON: HELEN. CHORUS by AESCHYLUS |