Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
’Tis known that thou and I were one;
I’ll think it but a fond conceit—
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
The vesper bell hath not yet tolled,
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,