O love not now, while you are young,
   your eyes still yet to weep,
while dreams of her have not yet sung 
   your weary heart to sleep,
nor has her body softly lain
   beside yours in your bed,
nor has your scalp yet loved the way
   her nails will scratch your head;
while still your ears have not been told
   the pleasure of her laugh,
your fingers having yet to hold
   her fingers in their grasp,
and while your lips have yet to learn 
   her lips’ familiar taste,
before your gaze has chanced to turn
   upon her pretty face:
for although you may think your love
   a great, eternal truth,          
you’ve yet to know the torture of
   these memories of youth.