Youth and Age

Say, is it dim and grim and all full of fear? Not at all, not at all, my pretty dear. Will there be no hope? Nothing to desire? You shall be comforted sitting by the fire. Will no one look at me? love me, if I please? You shall doze happy with a little bread and cheese. Even the springing grass--will it look pale? You shall be gladdened with a little warm ale. Shall I be trembling and querulous of tongue? You shall be wiser than anybody young. When the first thrushes sing, shall I not hear? Not at all, not at all, my pretty dear.