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The glad heavens with thee in their transient beauty, Then melt away again upon the clouds. O youth, and love, which is the light of youth, Why pass ye as the morning?—life goes on, But like a bark that, first in carelessness, And afterwards in fear of each rough gale, Has flung her richest freightage overboard. Who is there, though young still, yet having lost The warmth, the freshness, morning's dew and light, Can bear to look back on their earlier hours, When faith made its own happiness, and the heart Was credulous of its delight, and gave Its best affections forth so trustingly, Content to love, not doubting of return? 'Twas broke the sweet silence first: "My father told me he had seen to-day