Charming, but hardly worth my while
You, who would make to beguile
The Serpent from its apple gold,
The Rose from roots both deep and old.
And yet, thine own petals are wilted,
Failing, from a love left, jilted,
And still my own are dewy, shining,
Ever conquering, growing, climbing.
Why your withered face should tempt
With glowing eyes, through hair unkempt
A count'nence glorious as mine
As yet untouched by woe or time—
It is beyond my mind to grasp
Just what it is you seek to clasp.
Is it my beauty you desire?
A look to set the world on fire?
Or is it youth, a wild delight,
Freedom from old-age's fright?
Or perhaps me, myself alone,
That you would worship, love, enthrone?
It's none of these that you will get
And still I'll flounce, flirt, and coquet.
And you will watch with jealous eyes,
As I seek out new enterprise—
For Autumn's always envied Spring
With looks both sharp and lingering,
Rememb'ring of his better days,
His long-lost loves, his callow ways.
Yes, I have what the world does want,
And so this aspect I do flaunt.
And love it now, and swear to do
This, 'til the day I am as you.
And then I too will turn around,
And look on what I may have found.
I will discover, as all must,
That passing years have gone to dust
And then I will desire, too,
To go back to what once was new.
I will understand you, then,
And seek to have youth back again,
Mayhap in possessing someone who,
Is young, but whose heart is untrue,
As mine is now, so let me say
Until we find that far-off day:
I won't be yours, I will enjoy
This youth, this downy, shining toy,
with others who, like me, are young,
For whom the world has just begun
To open up, with petals bright,
And those who, having no foresight
See just the Now, and not the When,
When Earth will have us back—and then
It is to you that I will cry
Oh, let me live! Let me not die!
—when Death is breathing her brimstone.
But until then, you are alone.
Youth to Age. I rather imagine this being a boy like one of those Greek statues of young men (You know what I mean—the ones that are just unabashedly beautiful), perhaps to an older, wiser man. And yet, in a strange way… true beauty has a wisdom of its own, eh?