And, from the dregs of life, think to receive
What the first sprightly running would not give,
I’m tired with waiting for this chymic gold,
Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.
John Dryden (Aureng-zebe).
That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
R. Browning (Home-Thoughts from Abroad).