noon
`` And oh ! are we forgot ? '' cried Electra , laying a lip upon a cherry . `` There 's not a poet in his teens but warbles of you morn , noon , and night , '' I answered . `` There 's not a lover mad , young , true , and tender , but borrows your azure , and your rubies , and your roses , and your stars , to deck his sweetheart 's name with . '' `` Boys perhaps , '' cried Julia softly , `` but _ men _ soon forget . '' `` Youth never , '' I replied .