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MY BIRTHDAY.
They wilted, one by one, and died, like all earth's transient flowers,And now they sleep within the tomb of dear departed hours.Gone, gone forever; naught now avails our wild, regretful tears,No wail of longing can recall our youth's receding years,In vain we stretch our Yearning arms for pleasures past—in vain!The morning dew, once brushed away, will sparkle not again.
My life has reached its noontide hour, the zenith of its day;My steps are verging now within the calmer, steadier way;I leave behind the summer fields of youth's unbroken green,Before me lies the calmer light of autumn's harvest scene;I know my brightest hours are past, forever past—and yet,My heart in looking backward feels no throbbing of regret;
