And after all -- and after all, 
   Our passionate prayers, and sighs, and tears, 
Is life a reckless carnival? 
   And are they lost, our golden years? 

Ah, no; ah, no; for, long ago, 
   Ere time could sear, or care could fret, 
There was a youth called Romeo, 
   There was a maid named Juliet. 

The players of the past are gone; 
   The races rise; the races pass; 
And softly over all is drawn 
   The quiet Curtain of the Grass. 

But when the world went wild with Spring, 
   What days we had! Do you forget? 
When I of all the world was King, 
   And you were my Queen Juliet? 

The things that are; the things that seem -- 
   Who shall distinguish shape from show? 
The great processional, splendid dream 
   Of life is all I wish to know. 

The gods their faces turn away 
   From nations and their little wars; 
But we our golden drama play 
   Before the footlights of the stars. 

There lives -- though Time should cease to flow, 
   And stars their courses should forget -- 
There lives a grey-haired Romeo, 
   Who loves a golden Juliet.