But where is now the sportive wile
Of youth—so guileless and so gay—
The soul of love, of fire—the smile,
That spoke that soul—oh! where are they?
Of days that could such joys impart
What now remains? Their memory—
A cheerless, blasted youth—a heart
That breaketh fast, though silently.
And those proud hopes so fondly cherished,
Have they too proved, like Friendship, breath?