William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
Lifes ProgressAnne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (16611720)
H
Our Life’s uncertain race:
Whilst yet that sprightly morning sun,
With which we just set out to run
Enlightens all the place.
How tempting to go through;
Not Canaan to the prophet’s eyes,
From Pisgah with a sweet surprise,
Did more inviting shew.
Till thoroughly understood;
Whilst partial hopes such lots create,
As may the youthful fancy treat
With all that’s great and good.
Which wander through our minds;
How full the joys, how free the love,
Which does that early season move;
As flowers the western winds.
But April-drops our tears,
Which swiftly passing, all grows fair,
Whilst Beauty compensates our care,
And youth each vapour clears.
Scarce feeling we ascend
The gently rising Hill of Time,
From whence with grief we see that prime,
And all its sweetness end.
Fond expectation past;
The thorns, which former days had sown,
To crops of late repentance grown,
Thro’ which we toil at last.
That helps to bear us down;
Which faded smiles no more can charm,
But every tear’s a winter storm,
And every look’s a frown.
For joys we hoped to find;
By age too, rumpled and undrest,
We gladly sinking down to rest,
Leave following crowds behind.