| THE DAY that Youth had died, | |
| There came to his grave-side, | |
| In decent mourning, from the country’s ends, | |
| Those scatter’d friends | |
| Who had lived the boon companions of his prime, | 5 |
| And laughed with him and sung with him and wasted, | |
| In feast and wine and many-crown’d carouse, | |
| The days and nights and dawnings of the time | |
| When Youth kept open house, | |
| Nor left untasted | 10 |
| Aught of his high emprise and ventures dear, | |
| No quest of his unshar’d— | |
| All these, with loitering feet and sad head bar’d, | |
| Followed their old friend’s bier. | |
| Folly went first, | 15 |
| With muffled bells and coxcomb still revers’d; | |
| And after trod the bearers, hat in hand— | |
| Laughter, most hoarse, and Captain Pride with tanned | |
| And martial face all grim, and fussy Joy | |
| Who had to catch a train, and Lust, poor, snivelling boy; | 20 |
| These bore the dear departed. | |
| Behind them, broken-hearted, | |
| Came Grief, so noisy a widow, that all said, | |
| “Had he but wed | |
| Her elder sister Sorrow, in her stead!” | 25 |
| And by her, trying to soothe her all the time, | |
| The fatherless children, Colour, Tune, and Rhyme | |
| (The sweet lad Rhyme), ran all-uncomprehending. | |
| Then, at the way’s sad ending, | |
| Round the raw grave they stay’d. Old Wisdom read, | 30 |
| In mumbling tone, the Service for the Dead. | |
| There stood Romance, | |
| The furrowing tears had mark’d her rougèd cheek; | |
| Poor old Conceit, his wonder unassuaged; | |
| Dead Innocency’s daughter, Ignorance; | 35 |
| And shabby, ill-dress’d Generosity; | |
| And Argument, too full of woe to speak; | |
| Passion, grown portly, something middle-aged; | |
| And Friendship—not a minute older, she; | |
| Impatience, ever taking out his watch; | 40 |
| Faith, who was deaf, and had to lean, to catch | |
| Old Wisdom’s endless drone. | |
| Beauty was there, | |
| Pale in her black; dry-eyed; she stood alone. | |
| Poor maz’d Imagination; Fancy wild; | 45 |
| Ardour, the sunlight on his greying hair; | |
| Contentment, who had known Youth as a child | |
| And never seen him since. And Spring came too, | |
| Dancing over the tombs, and brought him flowers— | |
| She did not stay for long. | 50 |
| And Truth, and Grace, and all the merry crew, | |
| The laughing Winds and Rivers, and lithe Hours; | |
| And Hope, the dewy-eyed; and sorrowing Song;— | |
| Yes, with much woe and mourning general, | |
| At dead Youth’s funeral, | 55 |
| Even these were met once more together, all, | |
| Who erst the fair and living Youth did know; | |
| All, except only Love. Love had died long ago. | |
