(30 January 1775 – 17 September 1864 / Warwick)

On His Eightieth Birthday

To my ninth decade I have tottered on,
And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.

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Other poems of LANDOR (116)

Comments (1)

The poem gives an inside view of an old man's desperate mind. A very emotional write. Thanks.