Now I am young and credulous, My heart is quick to bleed At courage in the tremulous, Slow sprouting of a seed. Now I am young and sensitive, Man's lack can stab me through; I own no stitch I would not give To him that asked me to. Now I am young and a fool for love, My blood goes mad to see A brown girl pass me like a dove That flies melodiously. Let me be lavish of my tears, And dream that false is true; Though wisdom cometh with the years, The barren days come, too. |