This is the sunset of our youth;
The great fount has, at last, run dry.
Our age will show; this is the truth,
And night shall rise past midnight high.

O mournful morn that cradled me
And my comrades through childhood,
‘Tis not your time. You shall recede
Beyond the mists within the wood

Which hides the troubles of our days.
All monsters there which we’ve forgot
Shall ne’er again rise through the haze.
You shan’t struggle; that is for naught.

O youth, you are not eternal,
Regardless of your perception.
Thy obstinance is infernal;
A byproduct of deception

Constructed by your own false will.
Your sunshine will recede to dim
And beauty’s faculties will still.
Youth no longer shall have its whims,

Its fancies, or its pleasures fair.
Instead, youth is aptly replaced
With wisdom and a fall of airs
That grants to life its joyful grace.

This is the sunset of our youth,
Yet it’s the sunrise of our life.
This sun not marred by spurious sooth
Shall pierce the pall of sickly strife.