Thou see'st me, Lucia, this year droop; <br />Three zodiacs fill'd more, I shall stoop; <br />Let crutches then provided be <br />To shore up my debility: <br />Then, while thou laugh'st, I'll sighing cry, <br />A ruin underpropt am I: <br />Don will I then my beadsman's gown; <br />And when so feeble I am grown <br />As my weak shoulders cannot bear <br />The burden of a grasshopper; <br />Yet with the bench of aged sires, <br />When I and they keep termly fires, <br />With my weak voice I'll sing, or say <br />Some odes I made of Lucia;-- <br />Then will I heave my wither'd hand <br />To Jove the mighty, for to stand <br />Thy faithful friend, and to pour down <br />Upon thee many a benison.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crutches/
