To Youth, by Ebn Alrabia, in His Old Age

YES, Youth, thou’rt fled, and I am left,
Like yonder desolated bower,
By Winter's ruthless hand bereft
Of every leaf and every flower.

With heaving heart and streaming eyes,
I wooed thee to prolong thy stay,
But vain were all my tears and sighs—
Thou only fled’st more fast away.

Yet though thou fled’st away so fast,
I can recall thee if I will;
For I can talk of what is past,
And while I talk, enjoy thee still.