One swallow does not a summer make.
And so I know I should not take,
With hardly even one score years,
These trifling, youth-built souvenirs,
To head nor heart.
For I can see by one score more,
That I will soon have left youth's door,
With joy. In part.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brilliant...with wisdom beyond your years to boot :)