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To Youth

YES, Youth, thou’rt fled, and I am left,

Like yonder desolated bower,

By Winter's ruthless hand bereft

Of every leaf and every flower.

With heaving heart and streaming eyes,

I wooed thee to prolong thy stay,

But vain were all my tears and sighs—

Thou only fled’st more fast away.

Yet though thou fled’st away so fast,

I can recall thee if I will;

For I can talk of what is past,

And while I talk, enjoy thee still.

(Translation J.D. CARLYLE)