ON HIMSELF.

Oft with wanton smiles and jeers,
Women tell me I'm in years,
In the mirror, when I view,
Find, alas! they tell me true: —
Find my wrinkl'd forehead bare,
And regret my falling hair,
White, and few, alas! I find,
All that time has left behind.
But my hairs, if thus they fall,
I've but few or none at all,
Asking not I'll never share,
Fruitless knowledge, fruitless care;
This important truth I know,
If indeed in years I grow,
I must snatch what life can give,
Not to love is not to live.