" Tell me, Age, life's greatest joy, "
Cried an eager, rosy boy.

" Is it childhood's want of care;
Boyhood's dream's and visions rare;

Youth's first sip of Passion's wine;
Manhood's stay at Wisdom's shrine;

Or the calm at set of sun
When the heart repeats, " Well done"? "

" Ah, " Age answered, " Not in these
Life its sweetest pleasure sees;

But in memories of woe
That the heart no more can know. "