To Miss - -

Youth is the time when all is bright;
The mind is free from care;
No thoughts of aught, save present joys,
Can find an entrance there.

And, if a thought of future years
Steal o'er the careless mind,
That thought speaks of a happier time
When years are left behind.

But when the years of youth have fled,
And life is fill'd with pain,
We think full oft of vanish'd years,
And wish them back again.

And oft this wish will soothe our pain,
And oft allay our woe,
Oh, sweet to us is mem'ry then,
When we think of long ago.

May thou live on till youth has pass'd,
And feel but little pain,
And may thou, in a blest old age,
Live o'er your youth again.

Thomas Frederick Young

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Thomas Frederick Young

Memories Of Schooldays.

Thomas Frederick Young, Simple Poetry

Kelvin.

Thomas Frederick Young, Simple Poetry

Youthful Fancies.

Thomas Frederick Young, Simple Poetry

Hate.

Thomas Frederick Young, Simple Poetry

English

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To A Friend.

The youthful joys of vanish'd years,
The joys e'en now we share,
Have something of a sacred bliss,
Which time can not impair.

For when the years of youth have gone,
Its joys and hopes have flown,
The mem'ry clings with fond embrace -
Those joys are still our own.

Then, as I write these words for you, -
This earnest wish I pen:
That you may think but pleasant thoughts -
When life's liv'd o'er again.

May nought of sorrow, or of woe,
Invade to wound or pain,
And may the joys that we have shar'd
Be bright in mem'ry's train.

Thomas Frederick Young

Youth And Age.

I love the joyous thoughtless heart,
The revels of the youthful mind,
'Ere sad experience points the dart,
Which wounds so surely all mankind.

It glads me when the buoyant soul,
Unconscious ranges, fancy free,
Draining the sweets of pleasure's bowl,
And thinking all as blest as he.

Ah! me, yet sad it is to know,
The many griefs the future brings,
That time must change that note to woe,
Which now its merry carrol sings.

This "summer of the mind," alas!
Must have its autumn--leafless, bare,
When all these pleasing phantoms pass,
And end in winter, age, and care!

Such, such is life, the moral tells--
The tempest, and its sunny smiles,
A warning voice the cheerful bells,
The knell of death, our youth beguiles!

Thomas Gent

Memories Of Schooldays.

There are mem'ries glad of the old school-house,
Which throng around me still;
And voices spoke in my youthful days,
My ears with music fill.

Those youthful voices I seem to hear,
With their gladsome, joyous tone,
And joy and hope they bring to me,
When I am all alone.

I think of the joys of that time long past,
Of its boyish hopes and fears,
And 'tis partly joy, and partly pain,
That wets my eyes with tears.

For 'tis joy I feel, when I seem to stand,
Where I stood long years ago,
And when I think that cannot be,
My heart is fill'd with woe.

My old school mates are scatter'd far,
And some are with the dead,
And my old class mates have wander'd, too,
To seek for fame, or bread.

And those who still are near my ho...

Thomas Frederick Young

To Miss Milly Scott.

Memories of happy school-days,
In which we view the years gone by,
Long they last, and long they cheer us -
Live well the moments as they fly,
Your youth is passing swiftly by.

See, then, Milly, that your school-days
Can no mem'ries sad retain.
Onward! upward! be your motto,
Try and try, and try again,
The future will reward the pain.

Thomas Frederick Young

To Miss - -

In tracing here these lines, my friend,
Which spring from friendly heart,
I here record an earnest wish,
For thee, before we part:

May health and happiness serene,
Long, long with thee abide,
May youthful joys no sorrow bring,
Nor future woes betide.

And when thy youthful beauty leaves,
And youthful thoughts thy breast,
May thou in calm old age still live,
In happiness and rest.

Thomas Frederick Young

To Miss - -

The fairest flowers often fade,
And die, alas! too soon,
Ere half their life is sped, they droop,
And wither in their bloom.

But may thy life thro' future years,
In healthful beauty shine,
And when you think of other days,
Think of this wish of mine.

Thomas Frederick Young