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That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
I see these locks in silvery slips,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Life is but thought: so think I will
What strange disguise hast now put on,
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
That may not rudely be dismist.
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
I'll think it but a fond conceit—
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Both were mine! Life went a maying
To make believe, that Thou art gone?
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,
When Youth and I liv'd in't together.
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
This body that does me grievous wrong,
Ere I was old.
This breathing house not built with hands,
When I was young?—Ah, woful when!
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
That only serves to make us grieve,
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:—
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
And tells the jest without the smile.
When we are old:
When I was young!
How lightly then it flashed along:—
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
That only serves to make us grieve
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
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You've successfully reconstructed the poem! Your understanding of poetry and attention to detail is impressive.
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee— Both were mine! Life went a maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young!
When I was young?—Ah, woful when! Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands, How lightly then it flashed along:— Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide! Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I liv'd in't together. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; O! the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old.
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere, 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! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:— 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, This drooping gait, this altered size: But springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but thought: so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve! Where no hope is, life's a warning That only serves to make us grieve, When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some poor nigh-related guest, That may not rudely be dismist. Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile.