Not ye regret I of spring my years

In dreams gone by of hopeless love;

Not ye regret I O mysteries of nights.

By songstress passionate celebrated;

Not ye regret I O my faithless friends

Nor crowns of feasts nor cups of circle

Nor ye regret I O traitresses young—

To pleasures melancholy stranger am I.

But where are ye O moments tender

Of young my hopes of heartfelt peace?

The former heat and grace of inspiration?

Come again O ye of spring my years!