Too old for Youth,—too young, at thirty-five,

To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore,—

I wonder people should be left alive;

But since they are, that epoch is a bore:

Love lingers still, although 't were late to wive:

And as for other love, the illusion's o'er;

And Money, that most pure imagination,

Gleams only through the dawn of its creation. ⁶²