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You
have
only
a
few
years
in
which
to
live
really
,
perfectly
,
and
fully
.
When
your
youth
goes
,
your
beauty
will
go
with
it
,
and
then
you
will
suddenly
discover
that
there
are
no
triumphs
left
for
you
,
or
have
to
content
yourself
with
those
mean
triumphs
that
the
memory
of
your
past
will
make
more
bitter
than
defeats
.
Every
month
as
it
wanes
brings
you
nearer
to
something
dreadful
.
Time
is
jealous
of
you
,
and
wars
against
your
lilies
and
your
roses
.
You
will
become
sallow
,
and
hollow-cheeked
,
and
dull-eyed
.
You
will
suffer
horribly
...
.
Ah
!
realise
your
youth
while
you
have
it
.
Do
n't
squander
the
gold
of
your
days
,
listening
to
the
tedious
,
trying
to
improve
the
hopeless
failure
,
or
giving
away
your
life
to
the
ignorant
,
the
common
,
and
the
vulgar
.
These
are
the
sickly
aims
,
the
false
ideals
,
of
our
age
.
Live
!
Live
the
wonderful
life
that
is
in
you
!
Let
nothing
be
lost
upon
you
.
Be
always
searching
for
new
sensations
.
Be
afraid
of
nothing
...
.
A
new
Hedonism
--
that
is
what
our
century
wants
.
You
might
be
its
visible
symbol
.
With
your
personality
there
is
nothing
you
could
not
do
.
The
world
belongs
to
you
for
a
season
...
.
The
moment
I
met
you
I
saw
that
you
were
quite
unconscious
of
what
you
really
are
,
of
what
you
really
might
be
.
There
was
so
much
in
you
that
charmed
me
that
I
felt
I
must
tell
you
something
about
yourself
.
I
thought
how
tragic
it
would
be
if
you
were
wasted
.
For
there
is
such
a
little
time
that
your
youth
will
last
--
such
a
little
time
.
The
common
hill-flowers
wither
,
but
they
blossom
again
.
The
laburnum
will
be
as
yellow
next
June
as
it
is
now
.
In
a
month
there
will
be
purple
stars
on
the
clematis
,
and
year
after
year
the
green
night
of
its
leaves
will
hold
its
purple
stars
.
But
we
never
get
back
our
youth
.
The
pulse
of
joy
that
beats
in
us
at
twenty
,
becomes
sluggish
.
Our
limbs
fail
,
our
senses
rot
.
We
degenerate
into
hideous
puppets
,
haunted
by
the
memory
of
the
passions
of
which
we
were
too
much
afraid
,
and
the
exquisite
temptations
that
we
had
not
the
courage
to
yield
to
.
Youth
!
Youth
!
There
is
absolutely
nothing
in
the
world
but
youth
!
"
Dorian
Gray
listened
,
open-eyed
and
wondering
.
The
spray
of
lilac
fell
from
his
hand
upon
the
gravel
.
A
furry
bee
came
and
buzzed
round
it
for
a
moment
.
Then
it
began
to
scramble
all
over
the
oval
stellated
globe
of
the
tiny
blossoms
.
He
watched
it
with
that
strange
interest
in
trivial
things
that
we
try
to
develop
when
things
of
high
import
make
us
afraid
,
or
when
we
are
stirred
by
some
new
emotion
for
which
we
can
not
find
expression
,
or
when
some
thought
that
terrifies
us
lays
sudden
siege
to
the
brain
and
calls
on
us
to
yield
.
After
a
time
the
bee
flew
away
.
He
saw
it
creeping
into
the
stained
trumpet
of
a
Tyrian
convolvulus
.
The
flower
seemed
to
quiver
,
and
then
swayed
gently
to
and
fro
.
Suddenly
the
painter
appeared
at
the
door
of
the
studio
,
and
made
staccato
signs
for
them
to
come
in
.
They
turned
to
each
other
,
and
smiled
.
"
I
am
waiting
,
"
he
cried
.
"
Do
come
in
.
The
light
is
quite
perfect
,
and
you
can
bring
your
drinks
.
"
They
rose
up
,
and
sauntered
down
the
walk
together
.
Two
green-and-white
butterflies
fluttered
past
them
,
and
in
the
pear-tree
at
the
corner
of
the
garden
a
thrush
began
to
sing
.
"
You
are
glad
you
have
met
me
,
Mr.
Gray
,
"
said
Lord
Henry
,
looking
at
him
.
"
Yes
,
I
am
glad
now
.
I
wonder
shall
I
always
be
glad
?
"
"
Always
!
That
is
a
dreadful
word
.
It
makes
me
shudder
when
I
hear
it
.
Women
are
so
fond
of
using
it
.
They
spoil
every
romance
by
trying
to
make
it
last
for
ever
.
It
is
a
meaningless
word
,
too
.
The
only
difference
between
a
caprice
and
a
life-long
passion
is
that
the
caprice
lasts
a
little
longer
.
"
As
they
entered
the
studio
,
Dorian
Gray
put
his
hand
upon
Lord
Henry
's
arm
.
"
In
that
case
,
let
our
friendship
be
a
caprice
,
"
he
murmured
,
flushing
at
his
own
boldness
,
then
stepped
up
on
the
platform
and
resumed
his
pose
.
