YOUTH AND AGE.

“Tell me, what's Love?” said Youth, one day,

To drooping Age, who crest his way.—

“It is a sunny hour of play,

“For which repentance dear doth pay;

“Repentance! Repentance!

“And this is Love, as wise men say.”

“Tell me, what's Love?” said Youth once more,

Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore.—

“Soft as a passing summer's wind,

“Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind?

“Repentance! Repentance!

“And this is Love — when love is o'er.”

“Tell me, what's Love? “said Youth again,

Trusting the bliss, but not the pain.

“Sweet as a May tree's scented air —

“Mark ye what bitter fruit‘ twill bear,

“Repentance! Repentance!

“This, this is Love — sweet Youth, beware.”

Just then, young Love himself came by,

And cast on Youth a smiling eye;

Who could resist that glance's ray?

In vain did Age his warning say,

“Repentance! Repentance!”

Youth laughing went with Love away.