When we are old and these rejoicing veins Are frosty channels to a muted stream, And out of all our burning their remains No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream, This be our solace: that it was not said When we were young and warm and in our prime, Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead, Sleeping away the unreturning time. O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love, When morning strikes her spear upon the land, And we must rise and arm us and reprove The insolent daylight with a steady hand, Be not discountenanced if the knowing know We rose from rapture but an hour ago. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A THOUGHT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES LAST SONNET (REVISED VERSION) by JOHN KEATS BIRDS by NESTA HIGGINSON SKRINE RUMORS FROM AN AEOLIAN HARP by HENRY DAVID THOREAU DUNCTON HILL by HILAIRE BELLOC THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 5. COUNT GUIDO FRANCESCHINI by ROBERT BROWNING |