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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's other poems:
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