A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Young and Old (Nicolas Martin)



Thou mountest joyous up in life,
And I descend with forehead bent;
Thou wheelest eager for the strife,
And I retire with banner rent:
Thy future has an ample scope—
How fair the distance seems to thee!
Not opulent am I in hope,
But rich, most rich in memory.

Stoop down, young friend—behold a rose:
Love is its name, 'tis thine by right;
There's nought for me—the shadows close,
An open grave is in my sight.
All things have turns. The night's dull gloom
Morn's ruddy streak must chase away:
One flower must shed its last perfume,
And one must spring to hail the day.