I mourn for the death of my erstwhile youth,
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a time of innocence and naive bliss
which hid from me life's dark, unpleasant truth
but for ever holds all the joys I miss;
a time of mannish beauty, brawn and thews
as of a Greek god in his peerless prime
like Heracles of fabled strength, sinews
and might that's of renown from mythic time.
But, O Desire!...how do I long for
your renewal (in my now loveless life)
of me and for the virgins of folklore
whose maidenhood can quench my lustful strife!
Now in the fall of my increasing years,
I have lost love and youth as old age nears.
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."