To Whom Do You Belong?When in the height of youthful prime,And candour gently reigned,Then feared you not the march of Time,Possession you disdained.How fulsome in existence chasteWere you content to dwell;And life's pursuits in restless hasteCast not their ugly spell.Content without the irksome handOf one who gathers flowers.Content in peaceful shades to standWhilst claims were made in bowers.Then came those hands, clear to discernAbove the heady throng.How came you for those hands to yearn?To whom do you belong?Why sigh you now, with faded mien,For hands which care you not?Regretting thus to be unseen,Regretting now your lot
Sta.sh
