Lament, A

My feelings have outgrown my years! And now,
     Ere Time hath strown his silver in my hair,
     Or marked my forehead with the lines of care,
With a clear eye and yet unshadowed brow,
I walk abroad amid the haunts of men,
     Or through the pathless forests, where, alone,
     In wildest beauty, Nature, on her throne,
Sits undisturbed—nor hill, wood, river, glen,
     Ocean, nor sky, can rapturous joy impart
     Such as in childhood lived within my heart,
My heart is old—the quick sense of delight,
     The glow, the freshness of its earlier time
     Are swept away, and ere my manhood’s prime
Age hath come down upon my soul like Night!