I'll Say And Maybe Dream I Have Drawn Content' Seeing That Time Has Frozen Up The Blood, The Wick Of Youth Being Burned And The Oil Spent' From Beauty That Is Cast Out Of A Mould In Bronze, Or That In Dazzling Marble Appears, Appears, And When We Have Gone Is Gone Again, Being More Indifferent To Our Solitude Than 'Twere An Apparition. O Heart, We Are Old, The Living Beauty Is For Younger Men, We Cannot Pay Its Tribute Of Wild Tears.