It's sad to think, that it’s in vain
The gift of youth is wasted thus,
That we’ve betrayed it in the main,
That it has disappointed us;
That all the best of our wishes,
That dreams, exalted and delicious,
Decayed forever, in a rush,
Like fallen leaves in autumn slush.
It’s so intolerable to see
Long dinners, which are so rife,
To stick to a ritualistic life,
And with a crowd’s ascendancy
To go, not sharing with its fashion
Nor mutual points of view or passions.