Explore "Farewell to Arms" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
HIS golden locks time hath to silver turned;
O time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst age, and age at time, hath spurned,
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots and ever green.
His helmet now shall make an hive for bees,
And lovers' sonnets turn to holy psalms;
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, / And feed on prayers, that are old age's alms: / But though from court to cottage he depart, / His saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits in homely cell, / He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,- / ‘Blessed be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, / Cursed be the souls that think her any wrong!' / Goddess, allow this aged man his right / To be your beadsman now that was your knight.