The spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon;
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes.
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth,
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 36. "Infantsof the
spring" found also in Love's Labour's Lost.
Act I. Sc. 1. L. 100.
For youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds
Importing health and graveness.
Hamlet. Act IV. Sc. 7. L. 79.
Is in the very May-morn of his youth,
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises.
He that is more than a youth, is not for me,
and he that is less than man, I am not for him.
Much Ado About Nothing. Act II. Sc. 1. L.
40.
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short;
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee; youth I do adore thee. ,
The Passionate Pilgrim. St. 12.
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
Sonnet III.
Hail, blooming Youth!
May all your virtues with your years improve,
Till in consummate worth you shine the pride
Of these our days, and succeeding times
A bright example.
Wm. Somerville
| work = The Chase.
| place = Bk. III. L.
389.
Age may have one side, but assuredly Youth
has the other. There is nothing more certain
than that both are right, except perhaps that
both are wrong.
Stevenson
| work = Crabbed Age.
For God's sake give me the young man who
has brains enough to make a fool of nimself.
Stevenson
| work = Crabbed Age.
Youth is wholly experimental.
Stevenson
Youth should be a savings-bank.
Madame Swetchine.
What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his
youthful joys,
Though the deep heart of existence beat forever
like a boy's?
| author = Tennyson
| work = Locksley Hall. St. 70.
| place =
| note =
| topic =
| page = 924
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>What unjust judges fathers are, when in regard
to us they bold
That even in our boyish days we ought in conduct to be old,
Nor taste at all the very things that youth and
only youth requires;
They rule us by their present wants not by thenpast long-lost desires.
Tebencej
| work = The Self-Tormentor. Act I. Sc. 3.
F. W. Ricohd's trans.
The next, keep under Sir Hobbard de Hoy:
The next, a man, no longer a boy.
Tusser
| work = Hundred Points of Husbandry.
| seealso = (See also Barham)
| topic =
| page = 924
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very Heaven!
Wordsworth
| work = The Prelude.
| place = Bk. XI.
A youth to whom was given
So much of earth, so much of heaven.
Wordsworth
| work = Ruth.
Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor;
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay
No moment but in purchase of its worth,
And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can
tell.
Young
| work = Night Thoughts. Night II. L. 47.
YUKON
This is the law of the Yukon, that only the Strong shall survive;
That surely the Weak shall perish, and only the Fit survive.
Dissolute, damned and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,
This is the Will of the Yukon,—Lo, how she makes it plain!
Robert W. Service—Law of the Yukon.
Robert W. Service
| work = Law of the Yukon.
There's a land where the mountains are nameless
And the-rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
And deaths that just hang by a hair;
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
There are valleys unpeopled and still;
There's a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,
And I want to go back—and I will.
Robert W. Service—Spell of the Yukon.
Robert W. Service
YVETTE (River)
<poem>O lovely river of Yvette!
O darling river! like a bride, Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette, Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide. O lovely river of Yvette! O darling stream! on balanced wings The wood-birds sang the chansonnette That here a wandering poet sings.
