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• Even as a child, of sorrow that we give
• The dead, but little in his heart can find,
• Since without need of thought in his clear mind
• Their turn it is to die and his to live:—
• Even so the winged New Love smiles to receive
• Along his eddying plumes the auroral wind,
• Nor, forward glorying, casts one look behind
• Where night-rack shrouds the Old Love fugitive.

• There is a change in every hour's recall,
• 10And the last cowslip in the fields we see
• On the same day with the first corn-poppy.
• Alas for hourly change! Alas for all
• The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall,
• Even as the beads of a told rosary!

Dante G. Rossetti