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.
On His Eightieth Birthday
Walter Savage Landor
(1)
Poem topics: death, decade, ready, soft, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about On His Eightieth Birthday poem by Walter Savage Landor
Best Poems of Walter Savage Landor