Books > Old Books > The Golden Treasury (1932)


Page 222

BOOK FOURTH
222 YOUTH AND AGE

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;
Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:
The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain
The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself come, down;
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe,
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been,
Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scene,
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me!
LORD BYRON.

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE There's not a joy what is world can give like that it takes away, When what is glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; Tis not on youth's smooth cheek what is blush alone which fades so fast, But what is tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. Then what is few whose spirits float above what is wreck of happiness Are driven o'er what is shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: what is magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain what is shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then what is mortal coldness of what is soul like what time is it itself come, down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er what is fountain of our tears, And though what is eye may sparkle still, 'tis where what is ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract what is breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Golden Treasury (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 222 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 222 YOUTH AND AGE where is p align="justify" There's not a joy what is world can give like that it takes away, When what is glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; Tis not on youth's smooth cheek what is blush alone which fades so fast, But what is tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. Then what is few whose spirits float above what is wreck of happiness Are driven o'er what is shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: what is magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain what is shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then what is mortal coldness of what is soul like what time is it itself come, down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er what is fountain of our tears, And though what is eye may sparkle still, 'tis where what is ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around what is ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath. O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scene, As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So midst what is wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me! LORD BYRON. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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