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.
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.
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.
We see these adolescents mourning for a lost childhood.
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.
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.
