Youth! Youth! How Buoyant Are Thy Hopes!

What Change Has Made The Pastures Sweet And Reached The Daisies At My Feet, And Cloud That Wears A Golden Hem? This Lovely World, The Hills, The Sward-- They All Look Fresh, As If Our Lord But Yesterday Had Finished Them.

Her Face Betokened All Things Dear And Good, The Light Of Somewhat Yet To Come Was There Asleep, And Waiting For The Opening Day, When Childish Thoughts, Like Flowers Would Drift Away.

The Moon Looks Upon Many Night Flowers; The Night Flowers See But One Moon.

I Don't Want To Die. But I Want To Be Dead.

A Birthday:-and Now A Day That Rose With Much Of Hope, With Meaning Rife- A Thoughtful Day From Dawn To Close: The Middle Day Of Human Life.