Long time a child, and still a child, when years by Hartley Coleridge
Oops! I guess I missed posting one yesterday. I didn’t turn on my computer before I left for school and then spent a little too long at the bar celebrating a friend’s (successful) dissertation defense. Now I’m back on track.
Long time a child, and still a child, when years
By Hartley Coleridge
Long time a child, and still a child, when years
Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I;
For yet I lived like one not born to die;
A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears,
No hope I needed, and I knew no fears.
But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep; and waking,
I waked to sleep no more, at once o’ertaking
The vanguard of my age, with all arrears
Of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man,
Nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is grey,
For I have lost the race I never ran:
A rathe December blights my lagging May;
And still I am a child, though I be old:
Time is my debtor for my years untold.
