I had no sense of my own worth
When I was young and fair.
Now that my years have run their course,
I know. What point is there?
I know the good and bad of life,
Now that they've pa**ed me by,
Sped in my prime swift as a breeze
In bright brief morning's air.
There were so many nightingales
Of pa**ion that I lured
And captured in the curling locks
That were my beauty's snare.
Then in the orchard I could raise
My face as gracefully
As any thin young cypress tree
Over the greensward there.
What handsome challengers I played
Against in lovers' chess,
And lost so many of love's pieces.
The game was never fair.
How often in the world's arena
Of beauty I would spur
The racing steed of my heart's hopes
Through every bleak affair.
Now there is not one leaf or shoot
Left of my sweet green youth.
Cold with old age I turn to face
A dark night of white hair.