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What will Time give for youth we lose,
For dense, bright hair, and lip of rose,
For flowers wherewith Spring heaps our laps,
For trust in words, and faith in shows,
And all the castle-dreams he saps?

For wealth of hair, and lip of rose,
For faith in promises and shows,
For buds of May heaped in your laps,
What Time will give ye—Ah, who knows?
                           Patience, perhaps.