source :- medium
The more we live, more concise show up
Our life's succeeding stages;
A day to youth appears a year,
Furthermore, years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our childhood,
Ere energy yet disarranges,
Takes waiting like a stream smooth
Along its green outskirts.
Be that as it may, as the anxious cheek develops wan,
What's more, distress' poles fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
Why appear your courses snappier?
At the point when delights have lost their sprout and breath,
Furthermore, life itself is dull,
Why, as we achieve the Falls of Death
Feel we its tide more quick?
It might be interesting—yet who might change
Time's course to slower speeding,
When one by one our companions have gone,
What's more, left our chests dying?
Paradise gives our times of blurring quality
Reimbursing rapidity;
What's more, those of youth, an appearing length,
Proportion'd to their sweetness.