Classic Poem

I WOULD the Fates were busier
A shaping out my name and story.
It seems not like a haggard Fate
To hesitate, and hesitate;
But they'll demur if they prefer,
And far away is fame and glory.

Perhaps delay is profiting,
And disappointments shape a moral;
But age cares not for sweet applause,
For age is wise with " says and saws. "
With merry spring I love to sing
And with my youth I seek my laurel.

I cannot choose experience
To lead me faltering and jaded,
While all the blossom of my life
Is wasting in the fretful strife,
Till reaching hence that height intense
I find the myrtle plucked or faded.

No wreath of honor dignifies
The silver hairs, nor all endeavor
Finds any mark of royalty
However rich the trophy be.
Now I would rise and seize the prize,
Then rest forever and forever.