YOUTH, thou art fled, - but where are all the charms <br />Which, though with thee they came, and passed with thee, <br />Should leave a perfume and sweet memory <br />Of what they have been? All thy boons and harms <br />Have perished quite. Thy oft-revered alarms <br />Forsake the fluttering echo. Smiles and tears <br />Die on my cheek, or, petrified with years, <br />Show the dull woe which no compassion warms, <br />The mirth none shares. Yet could a wish, a thought, <br />Unravel all the complex web of age, - <br />Could all the characters that Time hath wrought <br />Be clean effaced from my memorial page <br />By one short word, the word I would not say; - <br />I thank my God because my hairs are gray.<br /><br />Hartley Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-flight-of-youth-2/
