The swift years slip and slide adown the steep; The slow years pass; neither will come again. Yon huddled years have weary eyes that weep, These laugh, these moan, these silent frown, these plain, These have their lips curl'd up with proud disdain. O years with tears, and tears through weary years, How weary I who in your arms have lain: Now, I am tired: the sound of slipping spears Moves soft, and tears fall in a bloody rain, And the chill footless years go over me who am slain. I hear, as in a wood, dim with old light, the rain, Slow falling; old, old, weary, human tears: And in the deepening dark my comfort is my Pain, Sole comfort left of all my hopes and fears, Pain that alone survives, gaunt hound of the shadowy years. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NURSING HOME: THE VISIT by KAREN SWENSON MILK FOR THE CAT by HAROLD MONRO THIS COMPOST: 2. by WALT WHITMAN |