PRIDE OF YOUTH
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ven as a child, of sorrow that we giveThe dead, but little in his heart can find,Since without need of thought to his clear mindTheir turn it is to die and his to live:Even so the winged New Love smiles to receiveAlong his eddying plumes the auroral wind,Nor, forward glorying, casts one look behindWhere night-rack shrouds the Old Love fugitive. There is a change in every hour's recall,And the last cowslip in the fields we seeOn the same day with the first corn-poppy.Alas for hourly change! Alas for allThe loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall,Even as the beads of a told rosary!
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