Could I buy back my past, what might I pay?
All that I have, and yet, with great regret;
Born ignorant—each dog must have its day,
Our lives a book, our youth its alphabet.
Try as we might, our youth remains a cage,
Nor may we rewrite what we said or did;
The best that age can do is turn the page,
And come to comprehend what years have hid.
To fail is no great sin when we are young,
Though I believed it was—and who did not?
Could I buy back my past, those songs we sung
Would perish, or, worse still, soon be forgot.