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Littell's Living Age/Volume 151/Issue 1948/Pride of Youth

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<poem>

Even as a child, of sorrow that we give

    The dead, but little in his heart can find,
    Since without need of thought to his clear mind

Their turn it is to die and his to live: Even so the winged New Love smiles to receive

    Along his eddying plumes the auroral wind,
    Nor, forward glorying, casts one look behind

Where night-wrack shrouds the Old Love fugitive.

There is a change in every hour's recall

    And the last cowslip in the fields we see
    On the same day with the first corn-poppy.

Alas for hourly change! Alas for all The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall,

    Even as the beads of a told rosary!