Love comes with boundless power, and sways the heart
A sole, unrivalled sovereign. How doth youth
Wear his soft yoke? More lightly than he wears
The pageant plume, which every fickle wind
Stirs at its will, to be thrown careless by,
When he shall weary of its pride! To youth
Love is the shallow rill that mocks the sunshine,
Wasting its strength in idle foam away:—
To age, the river, silent, broad, and deep—
Hiding the wealth of years within its breast—