YOUTH

What do they know of youth, who still are young?

They but the singers of a golden song

Who may not guess its worth or wonder — flung

Like largesse to the throng.

We only,— young no longer,— old so long

Before its harmonies, stand marvelling —

Oh! we who listen — never they who sing.

Not for itself is beauty, but for us

Who gaze upon it with all reverent eyes;

And youth which sheds its glory luminous,

Gives ever in this wise:—

Itself the joy it may not realise.

Only we know, who linger overlong

Youth that is made of beauty and of song.