Early Grey Hairs

O' ER my head, e'en yet a boy,
Care has thrown an early snow —
Care, be gone! — a steady joy
Soothes the heart that beats below.

Thus, though Alpine tops retain
Endless winter's hoary wreath;
Vines, and fields of golden grain,
Cheer the happy sons beneath.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.