Vi

I would not bid thee, though I might, give back One good thing youth has given and borne away; I crave not any comfort of the day That is not, nor on time's retrodden track Would turn to meet the white-robed hours or black That long since left me on their mortal way; Nor light nor love that has been, nor the breath That comes with morning from the sun to be And sets light hope on fire; No fruit, no flower thought once too fair for death, No flower nor hour once fallen from life's green tree, No leaf once plucked or once fulfilled desire.