TO LIGURINUS

Though mighty in Love's favor still,

Though cruel yet, my boy,

When the unwelcome dawn shall chill

Your pride and youthful joy,

The hair which round your shoulder grows

Is rudely cut away,

Your color, redder than the rose,

Is changed by youth's decay,—

Then, Ligurinus, in the glass

Another you will spy.

And as the shaggy face, alas!

You see, your grief will cry:

“Why in my youth could I not learn

The wisdom men enjoy?

Or why to men cannot return

The smooth cheeks of the boy?”