A Memory of Youth

The moments passed as at a play,I had the wisdom love brings forth;I had my share of mother witAnd yet for all that I could say,And though I had her praise for it,A cloud blown from the cut-throat northSuddenly hid love's moon away.

Believing every word I saidI praised her body and her mindTill pride had made her eyes grow bright,And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,And vanity her footfall light,Yet we, for all that praise, could findNothing but darkness overhead.

We sat as silent as a stone,We knew, though she'd not said a word,That even the best of love must die,And had been savagely undoneWere it not that love upon the cryOf a most ridiculous little birdTore from the clouds his marvellous moon.