And now that I have seen what he's become,
I pause surprised! Why he is mortal, too.
For just as I have soured, and bent from plumb,
So he refused the grace from false to true.
There was a time when I was starved for light.
He stood as if the noon were in his hands,
And I reached out-- no bread was ever so bright--
But then the world's argument demands
The banquet end, even if it ends too soon.
Why yes, the seasons shift and branch--
The grape, the plume, the raisin and the prune--
We all start out with juice, but not carte-blanche.
___Now you who read this world with youthful eyes,
___Take heart, it's not that bad when beauty dies.
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