THE wine of life was rough and new,
But sweet beyond belief,
And wrong was false, and right was true—
The rose was in the leaf.
In that good sunlight well we knew
The hues of wrong and right;
We slept among the roses through
The long enchanted night.
Now to our eyes, made dim with years,
Right intertwines with wrong.
How can we hear, with these tired ears,
The old, the magic song?
But this we know—wine once was red,
Roses were red and dear;
Once in our ears the truths were said
That now the young men hear!