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Far fall the day! O cruel Time,
Whose breath sweeps mortal things away,
Spare long this image of his prime,How sweet to draw, as hiddenly from time,
As from its rocks yon shaded fountain slips,
My yet remaining prime.Quick then, while your day's at prime.
Quick, and if 'tis work for two,
Here am I man: now's your time.It was in the prime
Of the sweet springtimeI, before I learned how time
Robs all summers at their prime,Fades all thy fairest prime,
Men shrink from cruel Death,
But honor crafty Time.And all rare blossoms from every clime
Grew in that garden in perfect prime.I trim myself to the storm of time,
I man the rudder, reef the sail,
Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime:Well I remember it in all its prime,
When in the summer-timeThis, that was a book in its time,
Printed on paper and bound in leather,
Last month in the white of a matin-primeI flame with glittering rime,
and stand above the stubble, stiff
as mail at morning-prime.And such the water-spirit’s chime
On mountain heights in morning’s prime,When we were young and warm and in our prime,
Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead,
Sleeping away the unreturning time.When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,O budding time!
O love's blest prime!And, therefore, take the present time
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crown`d with the primeWhen by my native streams, in life's fair prime,
The mournful magic of their mingling chime58 Plucked in the early summer of its prime,
59 Before it reached the fulness of its dower,
60 He withers in the morning of our time;When I was in my prime;
To eggs and bacon I was pledged . . .
Ala! the March of Time;He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime,
Though sear'd by toil, and something touch'd by time;