My Youth

My youth was my old age,
    Weary and long;
It had too many cares
    To think of song;
My moulting days all came
    When I was young.

Now, in life's prime, my soul
    Comes out in flower;
Late, as with Robin, comes
    My singing power;
I was not born to joy
    Till this late hour.

William Henry Davies

William Henry Davies was a Welsh poet and writer, best known for his poetry depicting tramp life and the natural world. Davies spent much of his life as a wanderer in the UK and the USA. Despite his lifestyle, he became one of the most popular poets of his time, with works including 'Leisure', which begins with the famous lines, 'What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?'. His autobiography, 'The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp', details his adventures and is considered a classic.

William Henry Davies

Cowslips And Larks

William Henry Davies, Simple Poetry

Easter

William Henry Davies, Simple Poetry

Dream Tragedies

William Henry Davies, Simple Poetry

The Heap Of Rags

William Henry Davies, Simple Poetry

English

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Youth and Age

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee -
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young? - Ah, woeful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flashed along,
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O the joys! that came down shower-like,
Of Friendshi...

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Youth And Age.

YOUTH.

Pilgrim of life! thy hoary head
    Is bent with age, thine eye
Looks downward to the silent dead,
    Wreck of mortality!--
The friends who flourished in thy day
    Have sought their narrow home;
Their spirits whisper, "Come away!"--


AGE.

    My soul replies, I come.--
I tread the path I trod a child,
    The fields I loved of yore;
The flowers that 'neath my footsteps smiled
    Now meet my gaze no more.
I stand beneath this giant oak!
    It was an aged tree,
Hollowed by time's resistless stroke,
    When life was green with me.
Its lofty head it proudly rears
    To greet the summer sky,
Whilst, bending with the weight of years,
    I feebly totter by.
And hushed are all the thousand songs
...

Susanna Moodie

Youth

What do they know of youth, who still are young?
They but the singers of a golden song
Who may not guess its worth or wonder--flung
Like largesse to the throng.
We only,--young no longer,--old so long
Before its harmonies, stand marvelling--
Oh! we who listen--never they who sing.

Not for itself is beauty, but for us
Who gaze upon it with all reverent eyes;
And youth which sheds its glory luminous,
Gives ever in this wise:--
Itself the joy it may not realise.
Only we know, who linger overlong
Youth that is made of beauty and of song.

Theodosia Garrison

An Outdoor Reception

On these green banks, where falls too soon
The shade of Autumn's afternoon,
The south wind blowing soft and sweet,
The water gliding at nay feet,
The distant northern range uplit
By the slant sunshine over it,
With changes of the mountain mist
From tender blush to amethyst,
The valley's stretch of shade and gleam
Fair as in Mirza's Bagdad dream,
With glad young faces smiling near
And merry voices in my ear,
I sit, methinks, as Hafiz might
In Iran's Garden of Delight.
For Persian roses blushing red,
Aster and gentian bloom instead;
For Shiraz wine, this mountain air;
For feast, the blueberries which I share
With one who proffers with stained hands
Her gleanings from yon pasture lands,
Wild fruit that art and culture spoil,
The harvest o...

John Greenleaf Whittier

A Song of Success

    Ho! we were strong, we were swift, we were brave.
    Youth was a challenge, and Life was a fight.
    All that was best in us gladly we gave,
    Sprang from the rally, and leapt for the height.
    Smiling is Love in a foam of Spring flowers:
    Harden our hearts to him - on let us press!
    Oh, what a triumph and pride shall be ours!
    See where it beacons, the star of success!

    Cares seem to crowd on us - so much to do;
    New fields to conquer, and time's on the wing.
    Grey hairs are showing, a wrinkle or two;
    Somehow our footstep is losing its spring.
    Pleasure's forsaken us, Love ceased to smile;
    Youth has been funeralled; Age travels fast.
    Sometimes we wonder: is it worth while?
    There! we have gained to the summit at ...

Robert William Service

Youth To The Poet

(TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES)


Strange spell of youth for age, and age for youth,
Affinity between two forms of truth! -
As if the dawn and sunset watched each other,
Like and unlike as children of one mother
And wondering at the likeness. Ardent eyes
Of young men see the prophecy arise
Of what their lives shall be when all is told;
And, in the far-off glow of years called old,
Those other eyes look back to catch a trace
Of what was once their own unshadowed grace.
But here in our dear poet both are blended -
Ripe age begun, yet golden youth not ended; -
Even as his song the willowy scent of spring
Doth blend with autumn's tender mellowing,
And mixes praise with satire, tears with fun,
In strains that ever delicately run;
So musical and wise, page...

George Parsons Lathrop