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[I. What changes of our natures have not been]

What changes of our natures have not been,
In the long process of the many days
That passed while we pursued our different ways,
Lost to each other! Fields, that once were green
Beneath our tillage, have been reaped. The scene
Of our young labors has grown old, and lays
Its dust upon us. Things that won our praise,
Are tasteless quite, and only move our spleen.
Experience has nipped the bloom of youth;
The flattering dawn of life has gone; in vain
We look for visions of the morn. Stern truth
Glares over us, and makes our view too plain.
I'm sick of life's discoveries; in sooth,
I 'd have the falsehoods of our youth again.