I had no sense of my own worth When I was young and fair. Now that my years have run their course, I know. What point is there? I know the good and bad of life, Now that they've pa**ed me by, Sped in my prime swift as a breeze In bright brief morning's air. There were so many nightingales Of pa**ion that I lured And captured in the curling locks That were my beauty's snare. Then in the orchard I could raise My face as gracefully As any thin young cypress tree Over the greensward there. What handsome challengers I played Against in lovers' chess, And lost so many of love's pieces. The game was never fair. How often in the world's arena Of beauty I would spur The racing steed of my heart's hopes Through every bleak affair. Now there is not one leaf or shoot Left of my sweet green youth. Cold with old age I turn to face A dark night of white hair.