Thou shalt not rob me, thievish Time,
Of all my blessings or my joy;
I have some jewels in my heart
Which thou art powerless to destroy.
Thou mayest denude mine arm of strength,
And leave my temples seamed and bare;
Deprive mine eyes of passion's light,
And scatter silver o'er my hair.
But never, while a book remains,
And breathes a woman or a child,
Shalt thou deprive me whilst I live
Of feelings fresh and undefiled.
No, never while the earth is fair,
And Reason keeps its dial bright,
Whate'er thy robberies, O Time,
Shall I be bankrupt of delight.
Whate'er thy victories o'er my frame,
Thou canst not cheat me of this truth:
That, though the limbs may faint and fail,
The spirit can renew its youth.
So, thievish Time, I fear thee not;
Thou'rt powerless on this heart of mine;
My precious jewels are my own,
'Tis but the settings that are thine.
--Charles Mackay.