poems12

MAKE MUCH OF TIME
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
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Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die.
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Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees it close.
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night�s repose.
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Of all the griefs that harass the distressed,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest;
Fate never wounds more deep the gen�rous heart,
Than when a blockhead�s insult points the dart.
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And it is not always face,
Clothes, or fortune gives the grace,
Or the feature, or the youth;
But the language, and the truth,
With the ardor and the passion,
Gives the loved one weight and fashion.
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SUNS
Suns that set, may rise again;
But once we lose this light,
�Tis with us perpetual night.
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THE GREAT HUNGER
That was how his life happened.
No mad hooves galloping in the sky,
But the weak, washy way of true tragedy -
A sick horse nosing around the meadow
For a clean place to die.
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I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery�s child
Her hair was long, her foot was light
And her eyes were wild.
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THE PESSIMIST
Nothing to do but work,
Nothing to eat but food,
Nothing to wear but clothes
To keep from going nude.
Nothing to breathe but air,
Quick as a flash �tis gone;
Nowhere to fall but off,
Nowhere to stand but on.
Nowhere to go but out,
Nowhere to come but back.
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YOUNG AND OLD
When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
The hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away:
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.
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Riddle of destiny, who can show
What thy short visit meant, or know
What they errand here below?
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Life is first boredom, then fear.
Whether or not we use it, it goes,
And leaves what something hidden from us chose,
An age, and then only the end of an age.
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Around, around the sun we go:
The moon goes round the earth.
We do not die of death:
We die of vertigo.