Maidens tell me I am old;
Let me in my glass behold
Whether smooth or not I be,
Or if hair remains to me.
Well, or be't or be't not so,
This for certainty I know,
Ill it fits old men to play,
When that Death bids come away.
Age Unfit For Love
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: away, death, hair, play, glass, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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