We have reached , not yet arrived,
In our thirties having left the sweet twenties behind;
Our eyes no longer glitter , our cheeks don't glow,
Our hearts are not those of the lover's, who sighs like a furnace from Shakespeare's ballad.
We are enacting the fourth age in the world' stage,
Soldiers with strange oath and woeful pride,
We have lost the luscious charm and a lot of the lustful vigor,
And have strangled ourselves with the melancholy of monotony.
Soon we will be with round bellies, which we with already are,
With severe eyes and ailing figures,
With love lost or sometimes regained,
And hopefully some time for life and mates.
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