Youth, where is thine open brow?
What has quell'd thine eagle eye?
Where's the freshness of thy cheek?
And thy dark hair's raven dye?
Where's thy crimson banner now?
Where's thine eager step and sword?
Where's thine hour of dreamless sleep?
Where frank jest and careless word?—
Gone, gone—they all are gone.
Where's the lighted hall; and where
All that made its midnight gay?
Where's the music of the harp?
And the minstrel's knightly lay?
Where's the graceful saraband?
Where the lamps of starry light?
Where the vases of bright flowers?
Where the blushes yet more bright?—
Gone, gone—they all are gone.
Where are those fair dreams that made
Life so beautiful at first?
Where the many fantasies
That young Hope so fondly nurst;
Love with motto like a knight,
Faithful even to the tomb;
Fortune following the wish;
Pleasure with a folded plume?—
Gone, gone—they all are gone.
