Poems (Denver)/Age

by Mary Caroline Denver

For works with similar titles, see Age.

AGE.

I recollect of a ruin, old, forsaken,
 Where the wind whistles through the broken wall,
Whose rafters by the angry blast are shaken,
 Whose columns totter, looking soon to fall.
Its casements rattle in the breeze of even;
 Its time-stained panes let in no cheering ray;
Upon its walls the blessed light of heaven
 Looks dim and melancholy all the day.

Within its courts the poisonous night-shade springeth,
 And seems to look on all around in hate;
Upon its rude and mouldering turret singe th
 The gloomy night-bird to its trembling mate.
And on its bare, disfigured walls no mirror
 Reflects the images of things long past;
Dismay, and Desolation, Doubt and Terror,
 Are its inhabitants, alone, at last.

Along the garden- walks some little flower
 May bloom perchance, and all unnoticed die;
With glass in hand, upon the highest tower
 Sits old Experience, with his haggard eye:
Its last, lone sentinel, he flings defiance
 Into the teeth of foes, by night and day;
He scorns the offer of a friend's alliance,
 And, cased in doubt, keeps all the world at bay.