Classic Poem

It seems, love, but the other day
Since thou and I were young together;
And yet we've trod a toilsome way,
And wrestled oft with stormy weather;
I see thee in thy spring of years,
Ere cheek or curl had known decay;
And there's a music in mine ears,
As sweet as heard the other day!

All time is lost in littleness!
All time, alas! if rightly shown,
Is but a shadow, more or less,
Upon life's lowly dial thrown.
The greatest pleasures, greatest grief,
Can never bear the test of years:
The pleasures vanish leaf by leaf,
The sorrow wastes away in tears.

Then, though it seem a trifling space
Since youth, and mirth, and hope were ours,
Yet those who love us most may trace
The hand of age amid our flowers.
Thus day by day life's ages grow;
The sands which hourly fall and climb
Mark centuries in their ceaseless flow,
And cast the destimes of Time!