For works with similar titles, see A Protest.
A PROTEST
"What is it to grow old?
It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young;
It is to add immured
In the hot prison of the present
Month to month with weary pain."
—Matthew Arnold.
It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young;
It is to add immured
In the hot prison of the present
Month to month with weary pain."
—Matthew Arnold.
—
Aye? Is this growing old? Then we defy
Thy utmost power, Time! Make white the hair,
Bow the frail form, and dim the sunken eye,
We shall not be thy thralls! Thou mayst despair
Of touching hearts, while Love is nestling there,
Watching with wistful looks the young, who tread
With eager feet the paths we must forego.
We live in their success. Our hopes outspread
Our own life's narrow limit, and seize hold
On all sweet, noble deeds where'er they blow;
Wrap as thou wilt, this chrysalis, fold on fold,
While Love smiles in the heart, thou canst not make us old.
Aye? Is this growing old? Then we defy
Thy utmost power, Time! Make white the hair,
Bow the frail form, and dim the sunken eye,
We shall not be thy thralls! Thou mayst despair
Of touching hearts, while Love is nestling there,
Watching with wistful looks the young, who tread
With eager feet the paths we must forego.
We live in their success. Our hopes outspread
Our own life's narrow limit, and seize hold
On all sweet, noble deeds where'er they blow;
Wrap as thou wilt, this chrysalis, fold on fold,
While Love smiles in the heart, thou canst not make us old.