I was as youthful as youth could be:
Cramming my noddle, as young folks do,
With a thousand things more nice than true.
Now this noddle of mine looks strange,
With its plenty of silver—and no small change!—
Surely I came the swiftest way
From the young and green to the old and gray.
Though the day be a changeful thing
In winter and summer, autumn and spring;
Days in December and days in June