I care not that one listen if he lives 
For aught but life's romance, nor puts above 
All life's necessities the need to love, 
Nor counts his greatest wealth what Beauty gives. 
But sometime on an afternoon in spring, 
When dandelions dot the fields with gold, 
And under rustling shade a few weeks old 
'Tis sweet to stroll and hear the bluebirds sing, 
Do you, blond head, whom beauty and the power 
Of being young and winsome have prepared 
For life's last privilege that really pays, 
Make the companion of an idle hour 
These relics of the time when I too fared 
Across the sweet fifth lustrum of my days.