15.07.2007, 13:49
Youth, thou art fled, - but where are all the charms
Which, tho’ with thee they came, and pass’d with thee,
Should leave a perfume and sweet memory
Of what they have been? – All thy boons and harms
Have perish’d quite. – Thy oft-renew’d alarms
Forsake the fluttering echo. – Smiles and tears
Die on my cheek, or, petrified with years,
Shew the dull woe which no compassion warms,
The mirth none shares. Yet could a with, a thought,
Unravel all the complex web of age, -
Could all the characters that Time hath wrought
Be clean effaced from my memorial page
By one short word, the word I would not say: -
I thank my God, because my hairs are grey.
Which, tho’ with thee they came, and pass’d with thee,
Should leave a perfume and sweet memory
Of what they have been? – All thy boons and harms
Have perish’d quite. – Thy oft-renew’d alarms
Forsake the fluttering echo. – Smiles and tears
Die on my cheek, or, petrified with years,
Shew the dull woe which no compassion warms,
The mirth none shares. Yet could a with, a thought,
Unravel all the complex web of age, -
Could all the characters that Time hath wrought
Be clean effaced from my memorial page
By one short word, the word I would not say: -
I thank my God, because my hairs are grey.