The years of youth are yours, Sixteen;
    Such years of old had I,
But time has set his seal between
    Dark eyebrow and dark eye.
Sere grow the leaves that once were green,
    The song turns to a sigh:
Ah! very young are you, Sixteen,
    And very old am I.

Red bloom-times come and go, Sixteen,
    With snow-soft feet, but I
Shall be no more as I have been
    In times of bloom gone by;
For dimmer grows the pleasant scene
    Beneath the pleasant sky;
The world is growing old, Sixteen—
    The weary world and I.

Ah, would that once again, Sixteen,
    A kissing mouth had I;
The days would gaily go, I ween,
    Though death should stand anigh,
If springtime’s green were evergreen,
    If Love would never die,
And I were young as you, Sixteen,
    And you were old as I.