  THIS is your birthday, dearest? Dearest wife, Fond sweetheart of my youth and of my prime, Lover and friend and comrade, in whose life I live unconscious of the flight of time! Three-score? and must we grant it so? Why, then Thank Heaven we have tasted life thus long, For life is rich, and shall grow sweeter when Like mellowing wine age renders it less strong. We shall grow old together, count the years, Welcome each sunrise and each setting sun; Together laugh our laugh or weep our tears, Wait, act and suffer, till the sands be run. I owned Golconda and the Coast of Pearl, Being a boy—it was but yesterday; One shared my fortune, giving hers—one girl— Whither, my darling, fled youth’s dream away? Where are the morning and the wealth of spring? Gone with the air-built castle—vanished, gone! The dew of youth went sunward, and the wing Is broken now that soared at golden dawn. It is too late for riches, land and gold; Too late to pluck the flaming rose of power; My hands have bled to gather what they hold— Buds of dead hope—ambition’s phantom flower. Yet all I am I dedicate to you, As on our spousal morning, Love, and bring This heart-born offering to pledge anew, In Autumn song, the promises of Spring. |
|
