Admire and hate thy blooming years.
With words of shame
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
For on thy cheek the glow is spread
That tints thy morning hills with red;
Thy step—the wild deer’s rustling feet
Within thy woods are not more fleet;
Thy hopeful eye
Is bright as thine own sunny sky.
Aye, let them rail—those haughty ones—