How many Summers, love,
Have I been thine?
How many days, thou dove,
Hast thou been mine?
Time, like the winged wind
When 't bends the flowers,
Hath left no mark behind,
To count the hours!
Some weight of thought, though loth,
On thee he leaves;
Some lines of care round both
Perhaps he weaves;
Some fears,--a soft regret
For joys scarce known;
Sweet looks we half forget;--
All else is flown!
Ah! with what thankless heart
I mourn and sing!
Look, where our children start,
Like sudden Spring!
With tongues all sweet and low,
Like a pleasant rhyme,
They tell how much I owe
To thee and Time!
[Decoration]
_A PETITION TO TIME._
1831.
Touch us gently, Time!
Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently,--as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream!
Humble voyagers are We,
Husband, wife, and children three--
(One is lost,--an angel, fled
To the azure overhead!)
Touch us gently, Time!
We 've not proud nor soaring wings:
_Our_ ambition, _our_ content
Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are We,
O'er Life's dim unsounded sea,
Seeking only some calm clime:--
Touch us _gently_, gentle Time!
_A BACCHANALIAN SONG._