Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale <br /> Of days departed. Time in his career <br /> Arraigns not thee that the neglected year <br /> Has past unheeded onward. To the vale <br /> Of years thou journeyest. May the future road <br /> Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend <br /> Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend, <br /> 'Till full of days he reach the calm abode <br /> Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age <br /> Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold <br /> The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old <br /> That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage <br /> Now like the monument of strength decayed <br />With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.<br /><br />Robert Southey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-03/
