Sonnet 22 (Sonnets, 1833)

Youth, thou art fled, — but where are all the charms
Which, tho' with thee they came, and pass'd with thee,
Should leave a perfume and sweet memory
Of what they have been ? — All thy boons and harms
Have perish'd quite. — Thy oft renew'd alarms
Forsake the fluttering echo. — Smiles and tears
Die on my cheek, or, petrified with years,
Shew the dull woe which no compassion warms,
The mirth none shares. Yet could a wish, a thought,
Unravel all the complex web of age, —
Could all the characters that Time hath wrought
Be clean effaced from my memorial page
By one short word, the word I would not say : —
I thank my God, because my hairs are grey.