MY EIGHTEENTH YEAR.
Reading edition
From the French.
Where is my eighteenth year? far back Upon life’s variegated track; Yet fondly oft I turn my eye, And for my eighteenth year I sigh.
Each pleasure then I took with zest, And hope was inmate of my breast— Enchanting hope, consoling thing, The plucker out of sorrow’s sting.
The sun above shone brighter then, Fairer were women, kinder men; If tears I shed, they soon were o’er, And I was happier than before.
The minstrel-wight of ancient day Wish’d that the twelve months all were May; I wish that every year I see The eighteenth of my life could be.