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power

My Youth

My youth was my old age,
Weary and long;
It had too many cares
To think of song;
My moulting days all came
When I was young.

Now, in life's prime, my soul

My Youth

My Youth
by William Henry Davies
Information about this edition
From Foliage (1913)

My youth was my old age,
Weary and long;
It had too many cares
To think of song;

My only property

My only property

I feel that I'm possess'd of nought,
Saving the free unfetterd thought
Which from my bosom seeks to flow,
And each propitious passing hour
That suffers me in all its power

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