The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun; The spring is past, and yet it is not sprung; The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green; I sought my death, and found it in my womb; TOMORROW In the down-hill of life, when I find I'm declining, Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining, With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn, With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail: A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, And a purse when a friend wants to borrow; I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame, Nor what honors may wait him Tomorrow. From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly Youth and Age 403 And while peace and plenty I find at my board, And when I at last must throw off this frail covering, On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering, But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; And this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare Today, May become everlasting Tomorrow. John Collins [1742?-1808] LATE WISDOM WE'VE trod the maze of error round, And now the torch of truth is found, It only shows us where we strayed: By long experience taught, we know— And all the faults discern in those. Now, 'tis our boast that we can quell And their impetuous wrath assuage.— YOUTH AND AGE VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, When I was young! When I was young?-Ah, woful When! That fear no spite of wind or tide! Naught cared this body for wind or weather Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Oh! the joys that came down shower-like, Ere I was old! Ere I was old? Ah, woful Ere, Dewdrops are the gems of morning, The Old Man's Comforts That only serves to make us grieve 405 Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS AND HOW HE GAINED THEM "You are old, Father William," the young man cried; "The few locks which are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William,- -a hearty old man: Now tell me the reason, I pray." "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, And abused not my health and my vigor at first, "You are old, Father William," the young man cried, And yet you lament not the days that are gone: "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past." "You are old, Father William," the young man cried, You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death: "I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied; In the days of my youth, I remembered my God, Robert Southey (1774-1843] TO AGE WELCOME, old friend! These many years The Fates have laid aside their shears I was indocile at an age When better boys were taught, But thou at length hast made me sage, Little I know from other men, But thou hast pointed well the pen Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope, Rather what lies before my feet My notice shall engage.- He who hath braved Youth's dizzy heat Dreads not the frost of Age. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] LATE LEAVES THE leaves are falling; so am I; The few late flowers have moisture in the eye; So have I too. Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird Winter may come: he brings but nigher |