Poem by Lewis Morris

Other Days

O THRUSH, your song is passing sweet,
But never a song that you have sung
Is half so sweet as thrushes sang
When my dear love and I were young.

O Roses, you are sweet and red,
Yet not so red nor sweet as were
The roses that my mistress loved
To bind within her flowing hair.

Time filches fragrance from the flower ;
Time steals the sweetness from the song;
Love only scorns the tyrant's power,
And with the growing years grows strong. 

1. Weakness Made Strong
2. Dear Little Hand
3. At an Almshouse
4. The New Order
5. A Hymn in Time of Idols

Print

1383 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version