Too old for Youth—too young, at thirty-five,
To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore—
I wonder people should be left alive;
But since they are, that epoch is a bore:
Love lingers still, although ’twere late to wive:
And as for other love, the illusion’s o’er;
And Money, that most pure imagination,
Gleams only through the dawn of its creation.