Youth

Tired Parthenons would crumble,
Slowly spreading their ancient dust
Onto the timeless holdings surrounding,
If ever our youth could escape us.

The age of the immortals would show,
And those glowering wisemen,
With their crackled skin and dusted breath
Would blush at our exuberance.

We could be royalty in the annuls of eternity,
Living as though we could never die,
Knowing only our own joy; our own hearty novelty,
From forever until the dew of our age would dry.