The more we live, more brief appear <br />Our life's succeeding stages; <br />A day to childhood seems a year, <br />And years like passing ages. <br /> <br />The gladsome current of our youth, <br />Ere passion yet disorders, <br />Steals lingering like a river smooth <br />Along its grassy borders. <br /> <br />But as the careworn cheek grows wan, <br />And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, <br />Ye stars, that measure life to man, <br />Why seem your courses quicker? <br /> <br />When joys have lost their bloom and breath, <br />And life itself is vapid, <br />Why, as we reach the Falls of Death <br />Feel we its tide more rapid? <br /> <br />It may be strange—yet who would change <br />Time's course to slower speeding, <br />When one by one our friends have gone, <br />And left our bosoms bleeding? <br /> <br />Heaven gives our years of fading strength <br />Indemnifying fleetness; <br />And those of youth, a seeming length, <br />Proportion'd to their sweetness.<br /><br />Thomas Campbell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/river-of-life-the/
