MY BIRTHDAY.
271
I would not, if I could, recall one single buried year,To shed its ghastly light around a dead past on its bier.
No, let them lie in slumbers deep as though mid-ocean's wavesIn surging billows rolled above their long-forgotten graves,I have no wish to lift the pall that on them darkly lies,I give their memory to-day no useless tears nor sighs.I know the passion flowers of youth, for me, are cold and dead;The summer roses of my life lie fading on my head;And yet, their bright and pristine bloom I care not to renew,It casts no shadow on my heart to watch their fading hue.
All blossoms of terrestrial birth live but a little while;I lay me down, and turn to meet my autumn with a smile.
