THINE elder that I am, thou must not cling To me, nor mournful for my love entreat : And yet, Alcaeus, as the sudden spring Is love, yea, and to veiled Demetia sweet. Sweeter than tone of harp, more gold than gold Is thy young voice to me ; yet, ah, the pain To learn I am beloved now I am old, Who, in my youth, loved, as thou must, in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OCTAVES: 12 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON MY AIN COUNTRIE by MARY LEE DEMAREST THE TAXI by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS CHARADES: 6 by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY TO A FRIEND: MR. BAKER IS WELL by THOMAS CHATTERTON THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE REEVE'S TALE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |