Sonnet XXIV Pride of Youth

Even as a child, of sorrow that we

The dead, but little in his heart can find,

Since without need of thought to his clear

Their turn it is to die and his to live:—Even so the winged New Love smiles to

Along his eddying plumes the auroral wind,

Nor, forward glorying, casts one look

Where night-rack shrouds the Old Love fugitive.

There is a change in every hour's recall,

And the last cowslip in the fields we

On the same day with the first corn-poppy.

Alas for hourly change!

Alas for

The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall,

Even as the beads of a told rosary!