A SONNET OF LIFE
How strange and feverish the haste appears,With which our modern living flies.Gaze back adown the row of bygone yearsAnd you begin to feel a longing rise.As if you rode a train that could not stopOr knew not whither it was rushing thee.As regions pass thee by, perchance you’d stop,But then a stop impossible would be.A few friends now ride in the car with you,A few fleet girlish glances you behold,They leave as others then in turn will do.At length thou’rt weary,—all a sameness takes,You feel the heart is quickly growing oldAnd fills with longing when remembrance wakes.
How strange and feverish the haste appears,With which our modern living flies.Gaze back adown the row of bygone yearsAnd you begin to feel a longing rise.As if you rode a train that could not stopOr knew not whither it was rushing thee.As regions pass thee by, perchance you’d stop,But then a stop impossible would be.A few friends now ride in the car with you,A few fleet girlish glances you behold,They leave as others then in turn will do.At length thou’rt weary,—all a sameness takes,You feel the heart is quickly growing oldAnd fills with longing when remembrance wakes.
How strange and feverish the haste appears,With which our modern living flies.Gaze back adown the row of bygone yearsAnd you begin to feel a longing rise.
How strange and feverish the haste appears,
With which our modern living flies.
Gaze back adown the row of bygone years
And you begin to feel a longing rise.
As if you rode a train that could not stopOr knew not whither it was rushing thee.As regions pass thee by, perchance you’d stop,But then a stop impossible would be.
As if you rode a train that could not stop
Or knew not whither it was rushing thee.
As regions pass thee by, perchance you’d stop,
But then a stop impossible would be.
A few friends now ride in the car with you,A few fleet girlish glances you behold,They leave as others then in turn will do.
A few friends now ride in the car with you,
A few fleet girlish glances you behold,
They leave as others then in turn will do.
At length thou’rt weary,—all a sameness takes,You feel the heart is quickly growing oldAnd fills with longing when remembrance wakes.
At length thou’rt weary,—all a sameness takes,
You feel the heart is quickly growing old
And fills with longing when remembrance wakes.