We said farewell, my youth and I, <br /> When all fair dreams were gone or going, <br />And Love’s red lips were cold and dry. <br />When white blooms fell from tree-tops high— <br /> Our Austral winter’s way of snowing— <br />We said farewell, my youth and I. <br /> <br />We did not sigh—what use to sigh <br /> When Death passed as a mower mowing, <br />And Love’s red lips were cold and dry? <br /> <br />But hearing Life’s stream thunder by, <br /> That sang of old through flowers flowing, <br />We said farewell, my youth and I. <br /> <br />There was no hope in the blue sky, <br /> No music in the low winds blowing, <br />And Love’s red lips were cold and dry. <br /> <br />My hair is black as yet, then why <br /> So sad! I know not, only knowing <br />We said farewell, my youth and I. <br /> <br />All are not buried when they die; <br /> Dead souls there are through live eyes showing <br />When Love’s red lips are cold and dry. <br /> <br />So, seeing where the dead men lie, <br /> Out of their hearts the grave-flowers growing, <br />We said farewell, my youth and I, <br />When Love’s red lips were cold and dry.<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/villanelle-6/
