Arthur Conan Doyle, 'Sexagenarius Loquitur'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Sexagenarius Loquitur

From our youth to our age
We have passed each stage
In old immemorial order,
From primitive days
Through flowery ways
With love like a hedge as their border.
Ah, youth was a kingdom of joy,
And we were the king and the queen,
When I was a year
Short of thirty, my dear,
And you were just nearing nineteen.
But dark follows light
And day follows night
As the old planet circles the sun;
And nature still traces
Her score on our faces
And tallies the years as they run.
Have they chilled the old warmth in your heart?
I swear that they have not in mine,
Though I am a year
Short of sixty, my dear,
And you are — well, say thirty-nine.

By Arthur Conan Doyle

Comments

[elenbarathi.livejournal.com]

Well, say. ;~D

[duathir.livejournal.com]

As ever.

[med_cat]

Ever gallant--"well, say thirty-nine"...;)

[duathir.livejournal.com]

It was a gallant age.

[med_cat]

Indeed; and furthermore, he was a gallant gentleman ;)

and here's a somewhat similar theme:

[med_cat]

October

SHE

Gone are the Spring and Summer from the year;
And from our lives as well. May we not, dear,
In our October find serene delights
To take the place of ardent summer nights?
Not striving to retain a dying season,
Or imitate its pleasures, but with reason
Accepting Autumn's quiet, briefer day
Of calm content, not seeking to be gay?

HE

Gone are the Spring and Summer; yet behold
The radiant woods, supreme in red and gold
And russet colours; and the wind harp plays
A louder song than in the April days.
Our lives need not be colourless or sober
Because of Autumn. Emulate October,
Who will not let the ageing years grow dull,
But keep its love by being beautiful.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox)

[duathir.livejournal.com]

That is pretty. Here is another similar:

Seasons of Love

I love you well as skylarks sing
In soaring ecstasies of spring
And twilight stars that shyly rise
Yet seem no brighter than your eyes.

You love me well as springing wheat
Grows golden bright in summer heat
And as the harvest apple glows
The autumn warmth between us grows.

And when my beauty all too brief
Is withered like the autumn leaf
And when your hair is frosted silver
Winter sees us lovers still.

By Catherine Faber

From the album Under The Gripping beast by Echo's Children - I think you would enjoy their music.

[med_cat]

Thank you; I like it very much and I shall have to have a listen to the album you mention.

There's a Russian poem where silver hair is mentioned; I'll have to post it sometime--it's a male narrator though