Your Own Fair Youth, You Care So Little For It, Smiling Towards Heaven, You Would Not Stay The Advances Of Time And Change Upon Your Happiest Fancies. I Keep Your Golden Hour, And Will Restore It. If Ever, In Time To Come, You Would Explore It-- Your Old Self Whose Thoughts Went Like Last Year'S Pansies, Look Unto Me; No Mirror Keeps Its Glances; In My Unfailing Praises Now I Store It. To Keep All Joys Of Yours From Time'S Estranging, I Shall Be Then A Treasury Where Your Gay, Happy, And Pensive Past For Ever Is. I Shall Be Then A Garden Charmed From Changing, In Which Your June Has Never Passed Away. Walk There Awhile Among My Memories.