I mourn for the death of my erstwhile youth,|
a time of innocence and naive bliss
which hid from me life's dark, unpleasant truth
but forever holds all the joys I miss;
a time of mannish beauty, brawn and thews
as of a god in his unrivaled prime
like Heracles of fabled strength, sinews
and might that's of renown from mythic time.
But, O Concupiscence! Do I ache for
hopeful renewal in my loveless life
through you and for the virgins of folklore
whose maidenhood can quench my sexual strife.
Now in the autumn of my waning years,
I'm joyless and alone as old age nears. ...