John Byrom

How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!
I ask but this of mine to--not defend.

How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!
I ask but this of mine to--not defend.

Ah, happy years, once more who would not be a boy!

Ah, happy years, once more who would not be a boy!

Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eye
We late saw streaming o'er.

Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eye
We late saw streaming o'er.

But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
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But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like a snake.

My days of love are over: me no more
The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,
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My days of love are over: me no more
The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,
Can make the fool of; that they made before:
In fact I must not lead the life I did do.