Classic Poem

Oft am I by the women told,
“Poor Anacreon! thou grow'st old;
Look! how thy hairs are falling all;
Poor Anacreon, how they fall!”—
Whether I grow old or no,
By the effects I do not know;
But this I know, without being told,
'Tis time to live, if I grow old;
'Tis time short pleasures now to take,
Of little life the best to make,
And manage wisely the last stake.