Classic Poem

There was a time, when I could feel
—All passion's hopes and fears;
And tell what tongues can ne'er reveal
—By smiles, and sighs, and tears.
The days are gone! no more—no more
—The cruel Fates allow;
And, though I'm hardly twenty-four,—
—I'm not a lover now.
Lady, the mist is on my sight,
—The chill is on my brow;
My day is night, my bloom is blight;
—I'm not a lover now!

I never talk about the clouds,
—I laugh at girls and boys,
I'm growing rather fond of crowds,
—And very fond of noise;
I never wander forth alone
—Upon the mountain's brow;
I weighed, last winter, sixteen stone;—
—I'm not a lover now!

I never wish to raise a veil,
—I never raise a sigh;
I never tell a tender tale,
—I never tell a lie:
I cannot kneel, as once I did;
—I've quite forgot my bow;
I never do as I am bid;—
—I'm not a lover now!

I make strange blunders every day,
—If I would be gallant;
Take smiles for wrinkles, black for grey,
—And nieces for their aunt:
I fly from folly, though it flows
—From lips of loveliest glow;
I don't object to length of nose;—
—I'm not a lover now!

I find my Ovid very dry,
—My Petrarch quite a pill,
Cut Fancy for Philosophy,
—Tom Moore for Mr. Mill.
And belles may read, and beaux may write,—
—I care not who or how;
I burnt my Album, Sunday night;—
—I'm not a lover now!

I don't encourage idle dreams
—Of poison or of ropes:
I cannot dine on airy schemes;
—I cannot sup on hopes:
New milk, I own, is very fine,
—Just foaming from the cow;
But yet, I want my pint of wine;—
—I'm not a lover now!

When Laura sings young hearts away,
—I'm deafer than the deep;
When Leonora goes to play,
—I sometimes go to sleep;
When Mary draws her white gloves out,
—I never dance, I vow,—
‘Too hot to kick one's heels about!’
—I'm not a lover now!

I'm busy, now, with state affairs;
—I prate of Pitt and Fox;
I ask the price of rail-road shares,
—I watch the turns of stocks.
And this is life! no verdure blooms
—Upon the withered bough:
I save a fortune in perfumes;—
—I'm not a lover now!

I may be yet, what others are,
—A boudoir's babbling fool,
The flattered star of Bench or Bar,
—A party's chief, or tool:—
Come shower or sunshine, hope or fear,
—The palace or the plough,—
My heart and lute are broken here;
—I'm not a lover now!

Lady, the mist is on my sight,
—The chill is on my brow;
My day is night, my bloom is blight;
—I'm not a lover now!