|
|
Seventy-Four And Twenty
By Thomas Hardy
Here goes a man of seventy-four,
Who sees not what life means for him,
And here another in years a score
Who reads its very figure and trim.
The one who shall walk to-day with me
Is not the youth who gazes far,
But the breezy wight who cannot see
What Earth's ingrained conditions are.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 458 times.
|
|
