Explore "To Mirimond" by Olive Tilford Dargan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
(HER BIRTHDAY, IN DECEMBER)
Dost think that Time, to whom stars vainly sue, / Will for thy beauty keep one fixed place? / Or that he may, o'er-weighed with seasons due, / Forget one Spring where veinlet tendrils lace / Rose over rose to make this flower, thy face? / Look round thee now, dear dupe of sweet hey-day! / Of what once blooming joy canst thou find trace / Save in the bosom of a cold decay? / What violet of Summer's yester sway / Usurps these clouds to throne her slender moon? / Look on the wrinkling year, the shrunken way, / The wintry bier of all that gaudy shone, / And gather love ere loveliness wear pall, / If thou, when all is gone, wouldst still have all.