T Is Now The Summer Of Your Youth. Time Has Not Cropt The Roses From Your Cheek, Though Sorrow Long Has Washed Them.

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'T is now the summer of your youth. Time has not cropt the roses from
your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
-- Edward Moore (1712-1757)
-- The Gamester, Act iii, Sc. 4

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