Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)

WE mind not how the sun in the mid-sky

Is hastening on; but when the golden orb

Strikes the extreme of earth, and when the gulfs

Of air and ocean open to receive him,

Dampness and gloom invade us; then we think

Ah! thus it is with Youth. Too fast his feet

Run on for sight; hour follows hour; fair maid

Succeeds fair maid; bright eyes bestar his couch;

The cheerful horn awakens him; the feast,

The revel, the entangling dance, allure,

And voices mellower than the Muse’s own

Heave up his buoyant bosom on their wave.

A little while, and then—Ah Youth! Youth! Youth!

Listen not to my words—but stay with me!

When thou art gone, Life may go too; the sigh

That rises is for thee, and not for Life.