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William Cullen Bryant - The Lapse of Time
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Lament who will, in fruitless tears,
  The speed with which our moments fly;
I sigh not over vanished years,
  But watch the years that hasten by.

Look, how they come,--a mingled crowd
  Of bright and dark, but rapid days;
Beneath them, like a summer cloud,
  The wide world changes as I gaze.

What! grieve that time has brought so soon
  The sober age of manhood on!
As idly might I weep, at noon,
  To see the blush of morning gone.

Could I give up the hopes that glow
  In prospect like Elysian isles;
And let the cheerful future go,
  With all her promises and smiles?

The future!--cruel were the power
  Whose doom would tear thee from my heart.
Thou sweetener of the present hour!
  We cannot--no--we will not part.

Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight
  That makes the changing seasons gay,
The grateful speed that brings the night,
  The swift and glad return of day;

The months that touch, with added grace,
  This little prattler at my knee,
In whose arch eye and speaking face
  New meaning every hour I see;

The years, that o`er each sister land
  Shall lift the country of my birth,
And nurse her strength, till she shall stand
  The pride and pattern of the earth:

Till younger commonwealths, for aid,
  Shall cling about her ample robe,
And from her frown shall shrink afraid
  The crowned oppressors of the globe.

True--time will seam and blanch my brow--
  Well--I shall sit with aged men,
And my good glass will tell me how
  A grizzly beard becomes me then.

And then should no dishonour lie
  Upon my head, when I am gray,
Love yet shall watch my fading eye,
  And smooth the path of my decay.

Then haste thee, Time--`tis kindness all
  That speeds thy winged feet so fast:
Thy pleasures stay not till they pall,
  And all thy pains are quickly past.

Thou fliest and bear`st away our woes,
  And as thy shadowy train depart,
The memory of sorrow grows
  A lighter burden on the heart.
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