O young and lovely! Now I'm left
With old ideals gone;
Bereft of power to praise, bereft
Of high comparison.

When Helen first put up her hair,
She may have looked like you;
Or Dian holding back a tear
When her first fawn she slew.

There's not a limb in Melian land,
Or veiled by Coan seas,
Which lissom chisel planed; or planned
By rapt Praxiteles,

To match you from your folded feet
To little lifted chin,
A line of perfect limbs which meet;
And not a beam gets in!

But when there is not for the eye
An equal in the heart,
The outer vision fades; so I,
To find your counterpart,

Call back the loveliness to aid
Which stars my world of song:
Ladies whom Time has lovelier made,
And think of them when young.

But what are planets when the bright
New crescent, tall and shy,
Tip-toes across the orchard light
Which tinges half the sky?