John Milton

(9 December 1608 – 8 November 1674 / London, England)

How Soon Hath Time


How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on wtih full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Freshman - 1,467 Points Babatunde Aremu (1/23/2015 2:36:00 PM)

    This poem describe what we experience in our lives. Time just tick away, so is our transition from stages of life (Report) Reply

  • Freshman - 1,624 Points John Richter (1/23/2015 6:24:00 AM)

    Absolutely stunning.... 'Time - that subtle robber of youth'.... How quaint it is that those from centuries ago felt the same as we... (Report) Reply

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