Classic Poem

When a set of youths I see,
Youth itself returns to me
Then, ah then, my old age springs
To the dance on starting wings
Stop, Cybeba;—roses there
To adorn a dancer's hair,—
Grey-beard age away be flung,
And I'll join ye, young for young
Some one then go fetch me wine
Of a vintage rare and fine,
And I'll show what age can do,—
Able still to warble too,
Able still to drink down sadness,
And display a graceful madness.