68 I,OTE’S TOKEN-FLOWERS. 
Measured by thought thou art of patriarch age, 
Measured by feeling thou art yet a boy ; 
And, as thou ponderest on life’s o’erpast page, 
Thou seest each sorrow mated by a joy: 
Why shouldst thou then at Time’s swift flight 
repine, 
When all earth’s costliest gifts to bless thy years 
combine. 
Wouldst thou recall thy dreams of early 
thought, 
The wild pulsations of a heart o’erwrought 
With its vain yearnings for a wild ideal ? 
Wouldst thou again crowd years into a day ? 
Again resign thy soul to Passion’s sway, 
And grasp at rainbow joys, bright but un¬ 
real ? 
Rather rejoice that Time could thus accord 
His soothing power to still each fierce emo¬ 
tion, 
And bless the heaven-directed hand that 
poured 
The oil of peace on life’s tempestuous ocean, 
