Classic Poem

The cause of this I know not,
Whither they went, nor why;
But I still remember the laughter
And the bright eyes flashing by —
The day the girls were kissing
The boys who had to die.

I search in vain for the reason —
What does a poet know? —
Only that youth is lovely,
Only that youth must go;
And hearts are made to be broken,
And love is always woe.