Each of the endings had been written
All the tears been already on the way
But how did it begin we’d forgotten
On that old unrepeatable summer’s day
No matter how I used to follow trace
Thee young, in the flashy floating cloudslost
A softest and faintest smile on thou face
Which day by day disappeared amidst
From hill to hill after the sun’s falling
Then the yellowish title page unfolded
Fortune made it with awfully binding
With tears again and again had I read
Being unwilling to admit the truth
All is rush written in the book of youth