Since men grow diffident at last, <br />And care no whit at all, <br />If spring be come, or the fall be past, <br />Or how the cool rains fall, <br />I come to no flower but I pluck, <br />I raise no cup but I sip, <br />For a mouth is the best of sweets to suck; <br />The oldest wine's on the lip. <br />If I grow old in a year or two, <br />And come to the querulous song <br />Of 'Alack and aday' and 'This was true, <br />And that, when I was young,' <br />I must have sweets to remember by, <br />Some blossom saved from the mire, <br />Some death-rebellious ember I <br />Can fan into a fire.<br /><br />Countee Cullen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/youth-sings-a-song-of-rosebuds/
