The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/Silvery Hairs

by William Motherwell

Sonnet—Silvery Hairs.

 

Ha! on my brow, what straggling silvery hairs
Be ye who curl and mingle in the throng
Of a more youthful race? Beshrew my heart,
Ye have a frosty aspect right severe,
And come to babble nonsense of the times
That once have been, and of the days that speed
With noiseless pinions o'er me—of the grave
That hungers for me, and impatiently
Awaits my coming. Softly now, fair sirs,
Emblems of frail mortality; in sooth,
Are ye the fruits of time, or those chance weeds
That sorrow's sullen flood hath left to mock
The broken heart that it hath desolated,
And killed each bud of hope that blossomed there?