I have grown old, awaiting spring's return,
And, now spring comes, I stand like winter grey
In a young world; yet warm within me burn
The morning-fires Love kindled in youth's day.
I have grown old; the young folk look on me
With sighs, and wonder that I once was fair,
And whisper one another: "Is this she?
Did summer ever light that winter hair?
"Ah, she is old; yet, she, too, once was young:
Yea, loved as we love even, for men tell