Ah! Samuel Taylor Coleridge! We could all use a little more poetry and friendship in our lives. Give this to your childhood friend and let her soak up the memories for years to come.
- Commercial grade ink
- Durable fabric and design
- Printed on white flour sack cotton kitchen towel
- Premium 58/58 thread count cotton
- Iron on opposite side of the design
- Designed and printed in Georgia
Our heavyweight towels measure about 30”x30” and are printed by hand in a tiny red barn in Georgia. The fabric for our tea towels and napkins are a premium 58/58 thread count cotton with solid hemming on four sides. That means they stand up to repeated washings and iron smooth for when you have company. Our clean, classic designs are the perfect home decor for a rustic, country farmhouse, an elegant city loft or any home that needs some classic Southern charm.
Come read our Barn Blog for stories more Southern than train songs, white dirt and Carolina dogs. And come on over to our sister publication, Salvation South. We're telling Southern stories about hope and healing that are guaranteed to make your heart smile! And check out the Salvation South Store for even more Southern goodness.
Youth and Age
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young?—Ah, woful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along:—
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in't together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit—
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:—
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that thou are gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,
When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
