Time has made conquest of so many things That once were mine. Swift-footed, eager youth That ran to meet the years; bold brigand health, That broke all laws of reason unafraid, And laughed at talk of punishment.
Close ties of blood and friendship, joy of life, Which reads its music in the major key And will not listen to a minor strain- These things and many more are spoils of time.
Yet as a conqueror who only storms The outposts of a town, and finds the fort Too strong to be assailed, so time retreats And knows his impotence. He cannot take
My three great jewels from the crown of life: Love, sympathy, and faith; and year on year He sees them grow in lustre and in worth, And glowers by me, plucking at his beard, And dragging, as he goes, a useless scythe.
Once in the dark he plotted with his friend Grim Death, to steal my treasures. Death replied: ‘They are immortal, and beyond thy reach, I could but set them in another sphere, To shine with greater lustre.'
Time and Death Passed on together, knowing their defeat; And I am singing by the road of life.
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