THE PRIME OF LIFE.
BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
I read the sentence or heard it spoken—
A stalwart phrase and with meaning rife—
And I said: "Now I know, by youth's sweet token,
That this is the time called the 'prime of life.'
"For my hopes soar over the loftiest mountain,
And the future glows red, like a fair sunrise;
And my spirits gush forth, like a spring-fed fountain,
And never a grief in the heart of me lies."
Yet later on, when with blood and muscle
Equipped I plunged in the world's hard strife,
When I loved its danger, and laughed at the tussle,
"Why this," I said, "is the prime of life."
And then, when the tide in my veins ran slower,
And youth's first follies had passed away,
When the fervent fires in my heart burned lower,
And over my body my brain had sway,
I said: "It is when, through the veiled ideal
The vigorous reason thrusts a knife
And rends the illusion, and shows us the real,
Oh! this is the time called 'prime of life.'"
Hut now when brain and body are troubled
(For one is tired and one is ill,
Yet my soul soars up with a strength redoubled
And sits on the throne of my broken will),
Now when on the ear of my listening spirit,
That is turned away from the earth's harsh strife,
The river of death sounds murmuring near it—
I know that this "is the prime of life."