The Half-Way House Poem by Carolyn Clive

LOOK back, look back! the height is won,
The journey of thy youth is done;
Thou hast pass'd the clime of flow'rs,
The solemn snow above thee tow'rs,
Look back! thou never, never more
Wilt breathe the air thou breath'dst before.
There they lie, those tender hues
Veil'd in thickly-rising dews,
There they sleep, those tones so dear
Which woke and charm'd thy youthful ear;
Never more the flow'rs or strain
Shalt thou see or hear again;
They were thine, and that is gone,
Time of such seasons has but one;

All was new--thy heart and all,
Passion, Duty, Hope, Delight,
And where'er thine eye could fall
There were objects fresh and bright.
Age must take those fairy things
And from them fashion all he feels;
But his hand is cold, and flings
A dampness o'er Life's tuneful strings
That half their music steals.
His fingers change the early key,
And play it slow and solemnly;
Stiff and cold, and oft repeated
Is the strain wherein 'tis meted.

Not like Youth, for he can make
The soul of ev'ry string awake;
Delicate, light, and swift, his hand
Flies o'er the lyre and bids it sing
Till the very heart in reply will ring
And feel itself all in fairy land.

Look back! for there is the scene wherein
Thou heardest the song of Life begin.