O, where are the eyes that enthralled us,
And where are the lips that we kissed?
Where the syren-like voices that called us,
And where all the chances we missed?
We know not what mortals call pleasure—
For clouded are skies that were blue;
To dross now has melted our treasure,
And false are the hearts that were true.
The flowers we gathered are faded,
The leaves of our laurels are shed;