Hours of Youth

The Poet knows his light burns eternal Has dealt the world-- Love, his handy Trump card Youth struck by love we age Oh! infernal In bloom the chase the glory of the bard When we are naught but glories of our past And the plump gourds all but mould and wither Small black mirrors in their eye’s we last And the final light we seek go thither And the rose petals demur Times request, The laurels we earned, the longings all fade Taught skin, ambition lieth down at Ages behest And cincture of fact is lost long-loves gaze New charms bloom sun n ’Nature to tear asunder As we prepare for the dark deep slumber