On His Having Arrived at the Age of Twenty-Three

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol’n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth 5 That I to manhood am arrived so near; And inward ripeness doth...