YOUTH AND AGE. VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, When I was young. When I was young! Ah, woful When! That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide. Naught cared this body for wind or weather, When Youth and I lived in't together. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; O the joys that came down shower-like, Ere I was old! YOUTH AND AGE. Ere I was old! Ah, woful Ere! That only serves to make us grieve SAMUEL TAYLOR COLEridge. TO MARY. THE twentieth year is well-nigh past Ah, would that this might be the last! My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow; I see thee daily weaker grow: 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil My Mary! But well thou playedst the housewife's part; And all thy threads, with magic art, Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary! TO MARY. Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, My Mary! For, could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline, My Mary! Thy hands their little force resign; Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, And still to love, though pressed with ill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary! THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. And should my future lot be cast Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary! WILLIAM COWPER. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear; For, hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck, so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest; And I should know if it beat right, And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise With her laughter or her sighs; ALFRED TENNYSON. |