O cruel fair, Whose flowing hair The envy and the pride of all is, As onward roll The years, that poll Will get as bald as a billiard ball is; Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply, Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply!
When you behold Yourself grown old These words shall speak your spirits moody: "Unhappy one! What heaps of fun I've missed by being goody-goody! Oh! that I might have felt the hunger Of loveless age when I was younger! "
End of title
Sign in to unlock this title
Sign in to continue reading, it's free! As an unregistered user you can only read a little bit.
