Poet

Then give me back youth's golden prime, When my own spirit too was growing, When from my heart th' unbidden rhyme Gush'd forth, a fount for ever flowing; Then shadowy mist the world conceal'd, And every bud sweet promise made, Of wonders yet to be reveal'd, As through the vales, with blooms inlaid, Culling a thousand flowers I stray'd. Naught had I, yet a rich profusion! The thirst for truth, joy in each fond illusion. Give me unquell'd those impulses to prove;-- Rapture so deep, its ecstasy was pain, The power of hate, the energy of love, Give me, oh give me back my youth again!