And though no rose our cheeks have,
The sky still shines as blue;
And still the distant peaks have
The glow of twenty-two.

Rudolph Chambers Lehmann [1856

TO CRITICS

WHEN I was seventeen I heard
From each censorious tongue,
"I'd not do that if I were you;
You see you're rather young."

Now that I number forty years,
I'm quite as often told
Of this or that I shouldn't do
Because I'm quite too old.

O carping world! If there's an age
Where youth and manhood keep

An equal poise, alas! I must

Have passed it in my sleep.

Walter Learned [1847

THE RAINBOW

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a man;

So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

A PETITION TO TIME

TOUCH us gently, Time!

Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.

Equinoctial

Humble voyagers are we,

Husband, wife, and children three-
(One is lost,—an angel, fled

To the azure overhead!)

Touch us gently, Time!

We've not proud nor soaring wings,
Our ambition, our content,

Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are we,
O'er Life's dim, unsounded sea,
Seeking only some calm clime;—

Touch us gently, gentle Time.

353

Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

EQUINOCTIAL

THE sun of life has crossed the line;
The summer-shine of lengthened light
Faded and failed, till, where I stand,
'Tis equal day and equal night.

One after one, as dwindling hours,

Youth's glowing hopes have dropped away,

And soon may barely leave the gleam
That coldly scores a winter's day.

I am not young; I am not old;

The flush of morn, the sunset calm, Paling and deepening, each to each, Meet midway with a solemn charm.

One side I see the summer fields,

Not yet disrobed of all their green; While westerly, along the hills,

Flame the first tints of frosty sheen.

Ah, middle-point, where cloud and storm
Make battle-ground of this my life!
Where, even-matched, the night and day
Wage round me their September strife!

I bow me to the threatening gale:
I know when that is overpast,
Among the peaceful harvest days,
An Indian Summer comes at last!
Adeline D. T. Whitney [1824-1906]

"BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF YEARS"

From "Atalanta in Calydon"

BEFORE the beginning of years,

There came to the making of man

Time, with a gift of tears;

Grief, with a glass that ran;

Pleasure, with pain for leaven;
Summer, with flowers that fell;
Remembrance, fallen from heaven;
And madness, risen from hell;
Strength, without hands to smite;
Love, that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light;

And life, the shadow of death.

And the high gods took in hand
Fire, and the falling of tears,
And a measure of sliding sand

From under the feet of the years;

And froth and drift of the sea;

And dust of the laboring earth;

And bodies of things to be

In the houses of death and of birth;
And wrought with weeping and laughter,
And fashioned with loathing and love,

With life before and after,

And death beneath and above,

For a day and a night and a morrow,

That his strength might endure for a span,

With travail and heavy sorrow,

The holy spirit of man.

Man

From the winds of the north and the south

They gathered as unto strife;
They breathed upon his mouth,

They filled his body with life;

Eyesight and speech they wrought
For the veils of the soul therein,
A time for labor and thought,

A time to serve and to sin;
They gave him light in his ways,

And love, and a space for delight,
And beauty and length of days,

And night, and sleep in the night.
His speech is a burning fire;
With his lips he travaileth;

In his heart is a blind desire,

In his eyes foreknowledge of death;
He weaves, and is clothed with derision'

Sows, and he shall not reap;

His life is a watch or a vision

Between a sleep and a sleep.

355

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

MAN

WEIGHING the steadfastness and state

Of some mean things which here below reside,
Where birds, like watchful clocks, the noiseless date
And intercourse of times divide,

Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowers,
Early as well as late,

Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers;

I would, said I, my God would give
The staidness of these things to man! for these
To His divine appointments ever cleave,

And no new business breaks their peace;
The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine,
The flowers without clothes live,

Yet Solomon was never dressed so fine.

Man hath still either toys, or care;

He hath no root, nor to one place is tied,
But ever restless and irregular

About this earth doth run and ride;

He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far,

That he hath quite forgot how to go there.

He knocks at all doors, strays and roams;

Nay, hath not so much wit as some stones have,
Which in the darkest nights point to their homes
By some hid sense their Maker gave;
Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest
And passage through these looms

God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.

Henry Vaughan [1622-1695]

THE PULLEY

WHEN God at first made Man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by-
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can;
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way,

Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said He)

Bestow this jewel also on My creature,
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness;
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast.

George Herbert [1593-1633]