Grass of Parnassus

The years will pass, and hearts will range,

You conquer Time, and Care, and Change.

Though Time doth still delight to shed

The dust on many a younger head;

Though Care, oft coming, hath the guile

From younger lips to steal the smile;

Though Change makes younger hearts wax cold,

And sells new loves for loves of old,

Time, Change, nor Care, hath learned the art

To fleck your hair, to chill your heart,

To touch your tresses with the snow,

To mar your mirth of long ago.

Change, Care, nor Time, while life endure,

Shall spoil our ancient friendship sure,

The love which flows from sacred springs,

In ‘old unhappy far-off things,’

From sympathies in grief and joy,

Through all the years of man and boy.

Therefore, to you, the rhymes I strung

When even this ‘brindled’ head was young

I bring, and later rhymes I bring

That flit upon as weak a wing,

But still for you, for yours, they sing!