Youth Is Stranger Than Fiction.

These Laid The World Away; Poured Out The Red Sweet Wine Of Youth; Gave Up The Years To Be Of Work And Joy, And That Unhoped Serene, That Men Call Age; And Those Who Would Have Been, Their Sons, They Gave, Their Immortality.

Down The Blue Night The Unending Columns Press In Noiseless Tumult, Break And Wave And Flow

Stands The Church Clock At Ten To Three? And Is There Honey Still For Tea?

I Have Been So Great A Lover: Filled My Days So Proudly With The Splendour Of Love's Praise, The Pain, The Calm, And The Astonishment, Desire Illimitable, And Silent Content, And All Dear Names Men Use, To Cheat Despair, For The Perplexed And Viewless Streams That Bear Our Hearts At Random Down The Dark Of Life.

A Kiss Makes The Heart Young Again And Wipes Out The Years.