Fifty Years
Cinquante ans.
Wherefore these flowers? my saint's-day this?
Ah, no! they only say,
That half a century o'er my head
Completes its course to-day.
Our days how rapidly they fly!
How idly mine have fleeted by!
How many a wrinkle seams my brow!
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
Dead hangs the fruit on withered tree;
All at this age is o'er!
But hark! a knock; my part is played —
I stir not to the door.
Some doctor leaves his card, I'll bet,
Where to old Time the lodging's let:
Once I had cried, " Lisette, 'tis thou! "
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
In racking pains old age abounds:
By gout we are opprest —
By blindness, darksome prison house —
By deafness, standing jest
Then, Reason's lamp, ere it expire,
Gives but a dull and trembling fire:
Before old age, O children, bow!
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
O Heavens, I hear him! Death has come,
And rubs his hands in mirth;
Grave-digging wretch! he knocks — adieu,
Good gentlemen of Earth!
Plague, war, and famine are below —
Above, bright stars no longer glow:
I'll open — God still hears my vow —
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
Nurse, in Love's Hospital employed,
'Tis thou, young girl! by thee
From nightmare of dark days my soul,
That slumbers, is set free
Scattering the roses of thine age,
Like Spring, o'er all things — to a sage,
Some perfume for his dreams allow!
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
Wherefore these flowers? my saint's-day this?
Ah, no! they only say,
That half a century o'er my head
Completes its course to-day.
Our days how rapidly they fly!
How idly mine have fleeted by!
How many a wrinkle seams my brow!
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
Dead hangs the fruit on withered tree;
All at this age is o'er!
But hark! a knock; my part is played —
I stir not to the door.
Some doctor leaves his card, I'll bet,
Where to old Time the lodging's let:
Once I had cried, " Lisette, 'tis thou! "
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
In racking pains old age abounds:
By gout we are opprest —
By blindness, darksome prison house —
By deafness, standing jest
Then, Reason's lamp, ere it expire,
Gives but a dull and trembling fire:
Before old age, O children, bow!
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
O Heavens, I hear him! Death has come,
And rubs his hands in mirth;
Grave-digging wretch! he knocks — adieu,
Good gentlemen of Earth!
Plague, war, and famine are below —
Above, bright stars no longer glow:
I'll open — God still hears my vow —
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
Nurse, in Love's Hospital employed,
'Tis thou, young girl! by thee
From nightmare of dark days my soul,
That slumbers, is set free
Scattering the roses of thine age,
Like Spring, o'er all things — to a sage,
Some perfume for his dreams allow!
Alas, alas! I'm fifty now!
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