In youth one has tears without grief; in age, griefs without tears
Most poets in their youth begin in adolescent sadness. I find it more rewarding to end in gladness.
In youth, grief comes with a rush and overflow, but it dries up, too, like the torrent. In the winter of life it remains a miserable pool, resisting all evaporation.
The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dewdrop on the rose; When next the summer breeze comes by And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
Tears fell from my eyes - yes, weak and foolish as it now appears to me, I wept for my departed youth; and for that beauty of which the faithful mirror too plainly assured me, no remnant existed.
We see these adolescents mourning for a lost childhood.
The grief of childhood is terrible while it lasts, it is so abandoned and so all-possessing.
Youth knows no remedy for grief but death.
He thought about himself and to the young that always brings sadness.
