All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
But hope will make thee young, for Hope and Youth Are children of one mother, even Love.
The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past; there is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been! Thus let thy power, which like the truth Of nature on my passive youth Descended, to my onward life supply Its calm, to one who worships thee, And every form containing thee, Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind To fear himself, and love all human kind.
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