I said, "My youth is gone Like a fire beaten out by the rain, That will never sway and sing Or play with the wind again."
I said, "It is no great sorrow That quenched my youth in me, But only little sorrows Beating ceaselessly."
I thought my youth was gone, But you returned-- Like a flame at the call of the wind It leaped and burned;
Threw off its ashen cloak, And gowned anew Gave itself like a bride Once more to you.
