At the Age of Twenty-Three - John Milton  
  
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,  
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth yeat!  
My hasting days fly on with full career,  
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.  
Perhaps the semblance might deceive the truth  
That I to manhood am arrived so near;  
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,  
That some more timely-happy sprits indu'th.  
Yet it be still in strictest measure even  
To that same lot, however means or high,  
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven-  
All is, if I have grace to use it so,  
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.  
  
John Milton (1608-1674)