Waste

So rich a treasure in yourself you bring, That some is spilt and wasted on the way, As low clouds, halting, on wild seas astray, Cheat the thick, thirsty blossoms of the spring. And some I waste. But in our later years We shall remember how, too prodigal, We let the precious drops of honey fall, And pay for them at last with useless tears. Ah, waste, waste, waste ! However much there is, There's not too much for bare and mortal days, That now, receding in youth's golden haze, Seem dim but ever full eternities. But there's an end ! Take heed, lest you and I Have wasted wealth to think on when we die.