The Young Are So Old, They Are

If Ever I Said In Grief Or Pride, I'd Tired Of Honest Things, I Lied.

Sweet Love, Sweet Thorn, When Lightly To My Heart. I Took Your Thrust, Whereby I Since Am Slain, And I Lie Disheveled In The Grass Apart, A Sodden Thing Bedrenched By Tears And Rain.

Youth, Have No Pity; Leave No Farthing Here For Age To Invest In Compromise And Fear.

I Dread No More The First White In My Hair, Or Even Age Itself, The Easy Shoe, The Cane, The Wrinkled Hands, The Special Chair: Time, Doing This To Me, May Alter Too My Anguish, Into Something I Can Bear

O World, I Cannot Hold Thee Close Enough!