The women tell me everyday
That all my bloom has passed away,
"Behold," the pretty wantons cry,
"Behold this mirror with a sigh;
The locks upon thy brow are few,
And, like the rest, they're withering too!"
Whether decline has thinned my hair,
I'm sure I neither know nor care;
But I know and this I feel,
As onward to the tomb I steal,
That still as death approaches nearer,
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer,
and had I but an hour to live,
that little hour to bliss I'd give.
This was introduced by my previous professor in ComSkills, presented by one of his good students. An ode written by Anacreon during his time was memorable for me. I fell in love with this poem because of how beautiful the meaning was and how relevant it is to the elders nowadays. You know how it is that when you read this with full understanding and interest, you will easily understand the meaning of this poem. <3