Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride, Waving in pink and white confide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more.

Fifty springs have seen the leaves Go round and come again; soon, I believe, In this blossom like a flower, I shall have enjoyed the bountiful power.

Where are the blossoms of my youth? Will I see them once more? Yes, forsooth. That nature’s beauty lingers true, Like blossoms formed in shining dew.

• Alfred Edward Housman