GROWING GRAY "On a l'âge de son cœur."-A. D'HOUDETOT. A LITTLE more toward the light; Me miserable! Here's one that's white, Adieu to song and "salad days"; We must reform our rhymes, my Dear,- Be grave, not witty; We have no more the right to find Young Love's for us a farce that's played; No more may tempt us; Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams; Indeed! you really fancy so? You think for one white streak we grow GROWING GRAY A fiddlestick! Each hair's a string To which our ancient Muse shall sing The heart's still sound. Shall "cakes and ale" Grow rare to youth because we rail At schoolboy dishes? Perish the thought! 'Tis ours to chant |