'Tis a very sad thing to be true,That so soon as our years are not very few,We cannot say simply -- "My Friends," even whileThe cheek may be decked in a fair-weather smile,And be, at the same time, exemptFrom a twinge of contempt.
The phrase may not stick in our throats exactly,Like the "Amen" of Macbeth;Yet rarely it sounds itself forth compactly,But grates in the passage, and lengthens our breath,As if it were forced uphill:Making us feel -- not at all lyrical,But bitterish rather, and somewhat satirical,Even against our will.
