'Tis hard that the full summer of our round <br />Is but the turn where winter's sign-post's writ; <br />That to have reached the best is leaving it; <br />That final loss bears date from having found. <br />So some proud vessel in a narrow sound <br />Sails at high water with the fair wind fit, <br />And lo! the ebb along the sandy spit, <br />Lower and lower till she jars, aground. <br /> <br />'Tis hard. We are young still but more content; <br />'Tis our ripe flush, the heyday of our prime; <br />We learn full breath, how rich of the air we are! <br />But suddenly we note a touch of time, <br />A little fleck that scarcely seems to mar; <br />And we know then that some time since youth went.<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tis-hard/
