Classic Poem

(Senex loquitur)

Only the craven cries, time-conquered,
" Fair is this quiet space of honored age! "
I, if I could, would give all days remaining
To gain one hour to-night of youth's sweet rage!

Ah, how I loathe these feeble nerves and trembling,
This hoary hair, this yellow, time-etched brow!
Ah, to stand straight and strong, the hot blood leaping
Through this chill body, shrunk and withered now!

Ah, for sweet love, that drove me nigh to madness!
His half the royalty of youth's brief reign.
No red lips kiss me now; how could they bear it,
Through my parched skin the death's-head shows so plain!

Lies told myself will never serve to soothe me,
Why should I vow I find life's sunset bright?
Mine is a soul that should have passed at mid-day;
It turns with horror from the gathering night!