"Youth’s bright palace Is overthrown, With its diamond sceptre And golden throne; As a time-worn stone Its turrets are humbled— All hath crumbled But grief alone!Whither, O whither Have fled away The dreams and hopes Of my early day? Ruin’d and grey Are the towers I builded; And the beams that gilded— Ah, where are they?Once this world Was fresh and bright, With its golden noon And its starry night: Glad and light, By mountain and river, Have I bless’d the Giver With hush’d delight.Youth’s illusions One by one Have pass’d like clouds That the sun look’d on. While morning shone, How purple their fringes! How ashy their tinges When that was gone!As fire-flies fade When the nights are damp— As meteors are quench’d In a stagnant swamp— Thus Charlemagne’s camp Where the Paladins rally, And the Diamond valley, And the Wonderful Lamp,And all the wonders Of Ganges and Nile, And Haroun’s rambles, And Crusoe’s isle, And Princes who smile On the Genii’s daughters ’Neath the Orient waters Full many a mile,And all that the pen Of Fancy can write Must vanish in manhood’s Misty light; Squire and Knight, And damosel’s glances, Sunny romances, So pure and bright!These have vanish’d, And what remains? Life’s budding garlands Have turn’d to chains— Its beams and rains Feed but docks and thistles, And sorrow whistles O’er desert plains."