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Poem by Charles Heavysege


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Childhood alone is glad.  With it time flees
In constant mimes and bright festivities.
It, like the ever-restless butterfly,
Or seeks or settles on some flower of joy.
Youth chases pleasure, but oft starteth pain;
And love, youth's birthright, oft is love in vain;
While manhood follows wealth, or woos ambition,
That are but courted cares; and, with transition
Insensible, he enters upon age;
Thence gilding like a spectre from life's stage,
E'en through the door of dotage.  So he passes
To second childhood; but, as quickening gases,
Being fled, leave zestless a once cheering draught,
We grow not merry though the dotard laughed.



Charles Heavysege


Charles Heavysege's other poems:
  1. Secrets Of The Heart
  2. The Dead
  3. The Infinite
  4. The Coming of Morn
  5. The Fallen Angels


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