But through the rains and through the winds, Upon the untried sea, My fairy ship sailed on and on, With all my dreams and me. And now, no more a child, I long Rose up the shores of Spain. O lovely land of silver mists, I look for you with smiles, with tears, Ellen Mackey Hutchinson Cortissoz [18 MY BIRTH-DAY "My birth-day"-what a different sound How hard that chain will press at last. Vain was the man, and false as vain, Who said "were he ordained to run His long career of life again, He would do all that he had done." Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells Lavished unwisely, carelessly; Of counsel mocked; of talents, made Sonnet Of nursing many a wrong desire; Of wandering after Love too far, That crossed my pathway, for a star. The imperfect picture o'er again, The lights and shades, the joy and pain, How quickly all should melt away- Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships, in my boyhood twined, Where Love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark, 345 Thomas Moore [1779-1852] SONNET ON HIS HAVING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven: All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-master's eye. John Milton [1608-1674] ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The fire that on my bosom preys The hope, the fear, the jealous care, But 'tis not thus-and 'tis not here— Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field, Awake! (not Greece-she is awake!) Tread those reviving passions down, Growing Gray If thou regret'st thy youth, why live? The land of honorable death Is here:-up to the field, and give Seek out-less often sought than found— 347 George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] GROWING GRAY "On a l'age de son cœur." A LITTLE more toward the light;- A. D' HOUDETOT Me miserable! Here's one that's white; Adieu to song and "salad days;" My Muse, let's go at once to Jay's, We must reform our rhymes, my Dear,- Be grave, not witty; We have, no more, the right to find Young Love's for us a farce that's played; No more may tempt us; Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams; Indeed! you really fancy so? You think for one white streak we grow A fiddlestick! Each hair's a string To which our ancient Muse shall sing The heart's still sound. Shall "cakes and ale" At schoolboy dishes? Perish the thought! 'Tis ours to chant Belief with wishes. Austin Dobson [1840– THE ONE WHITE HAIR THE wisest of the wise Listen to pretty lies And love to hear 'em told. Doubt not that Solomon Listened to many a one, Some in his youth, and more when he grew old. I never was among The choir of Wisdom's song, But pretty lies loved I As much as any king, When youth was on the wing, And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by. Alas! and I have not The pleasant hour forgot When one pert lady said, "O Walter! I am quite Bewildered with affright! I see (sit quiet now) a white hair on your head!" Another more benign Snipped it away from mine, And in her own dark hair Pretended it was found . . . She leaped, and twirled it round Fair as she was, she never was so fair! Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] |