Youth has no fear of ill, by no cloudy days annoyed,
But the old man's all hath fled, and his hopes have met their doom:
The bud hath burst to flower, and the flower been long destroyed,
The root also is withered; I no more can look for bloom.
So I have said my say, and I have had my day,
And sorrow, like a young storm, creeps dark upon my brow;
Hopes, like to summer clouds, have all blown far away,
And the world's sunny side is turned over with me now,
And I am left a lame bird upon a withered bough.
I look upon the past: 't is as black as winter days,
But the worst is not yet over; there are blacker, days to come.
O, I would I had but known of the wide world's many ways,
But youth is ever blind, so I e'en must meet my do...