1822. E. P. K.
THE MORN AND EVE OF LIFE.
So soft Time’s plumage in life’s budding spring,
We rarely note the flutter of his wing.
The untutored heart, from pain and sadness free,
Beats high with hope and joy and ecstasy;
And the fond bosoms of confiding youth
Believe their fairy world a world of truth.
The thorn is young upon the rose’s stem;