Youth gave you to me, but I’ll not believe
That youth will, taking his quick self, take you.
Youth’s all our truth; he cannot so deceive;
He has our graces—not our own selves too.
He still compares with time when he’ll be spent,
By human fate enhancing what we are;
Enriches us with dear experiment,
Lends arms to leaguered age in Time’s rough war.
Look, this youth in us is an old man taking
A boy to make him wiser than his days.
So is our old youth our young ages making,
So rich in time his final debt he pays.
So with your quite young arms do you me hold,
And I will still be young when all the world’s grown old.