Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.
I have lived life long enough to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered
The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow.