Oh lofty trees at my childhood so rich in appearance and bloom
Now I see barren of leaves standing naked in forest gloom
Which used from heat to canopy the grazing herd,
where is all summer's green; all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the meadow with white and bristly beard
Those sparkling foliage of past years of whitening leaves
My days of beauty do I seek and revisit and question make
That I am among any other the victims of time, must go,
And my sweets memories and beauties do themselves forsake
Travel away from me, die as fast as they see others around them grow;
And there is nothing against Time's scythe; no avoidance no defense
A fate we must all accept; monarchs and commons same duress
There are times when I do count the clock that tells the days of time,
The solitude of evening when the brave day sinks into a hideous night;
When I observe the violet at my window past its prime,
And my reflection in the glass; sable curls all silvered over with white;
I know behind a night a day will shine from the East
Unfortunately I have not a morsel of optimism when it comes to death; the dire beast
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