OLD, WHILE YOUNG.
BY MABEL CLIFFORD.
I asked a friend why she was so sad? Her reply was,
"Sorrow hath made me old, while young."
You ask me why I am so strangely tearful,
Why clouds of anguish o'er my brow are flung?
You strive and pray to make me gay and cheerful,
And wonder how I can be sad while young.
Yes, I am young in years, but not in feeling,
For many frosts upon my bosom lie,
And sorrow's mantle o'er my spirit stealing,
Wrapped age within, and cast youth idly by.
I may be young, but, with my blighted spirit,
My clouded heart, and weary head and brain,
I feel, I know I never can inherit
A careless brow, and cheerful mien again.
Then do not scorn me that I have not power
To show a brow where shadows may not come,
For, were your heart like mine, a blighted flower,
You would not wonder I feel old, while young.