LINES WRITTEN NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1903.
Dearest put thy glasses on,
Do not mind old Father Time,
Though he touched thy optics first
The same fate's in store for mine.
Do not mind old Father Time,
Though he touched thy optics first
The same fate's in store for mine.
And those little silver threads
He has woven in thy hair,
In that soft and shining web;
In a few short years I'll share.
He has woven in thy hair,
In that soft and shining web;
In a few short years I'll share.
But those lines of earnest thought
I can never match, I fear;
Mine but tell of selfish griefs
As their markings grow more clear.
I can never match, I fear;
Mine but tell of selfish griefs
As their markings grow more clear.
Ah! if years would always show
Half the worth that thine unfold,
I should love their footprints well.
And would laugh at growing old.
Half the worth that thine unfold,
I should love their footprints well.
And would laugh at growing old.
The proverbial staff I'd take
Cheerfully from the hand of Time,
If the fates had only blessed
Me with heart as young as thine.
Cheerfully from the hand of Time,
If the fates had only blessed
Me with heart as young as thine.
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