Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1690/The Years

For works with similar titles, see Years.

THE YEARS.

Why do we heap huge mounds of years,
⁠Before us and behind,
And scorn the little days that pass
⁠Like angels on the wind?

Each, turning round a small, sweet face
⁠As beautiful as near,
Because it is so small a face
⁠We will not see it clear.

And so it turns from us, and goes
⁠Away in sad disdain;
Though we could give our lives for it,
⁠It never comes again.

Miss Mulock.⁠

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