HEN you say, I still am young,
You are young no more;
When, I’m old, is on your tongue,
Age is still in store.
Youth and age will never grope
To say what they may be:
One only knows it has a hope,
And one a certainty.
THE OUTLET.
RIEF struck me. I so shook in heart and wit
I thought I must speak of it or die of it.
A certain friend I had with strength to lend,
When mine was spent I went to find my friend,
Who, rising up with eyes wild for relief,
Hung on my neck and spoke to me of grief.
I raked the ashes of my burned-out strength
And found one coal to warm her with at length.
I sat with her till I was icy cold.
At last I went away, my grief untold.