`` My poor Sylvia 's rose ! '' ejaculated Dr. Heidegger , holding it in the light of the sunset clouds . `` It appears to be fading again . '' And so it was . Even while the party were looking at it the flower continued to shrivel up , till it became as dry and fragile as when the doctor had first thrown it into the vase . He shook off the few drops of moisture which clung to its petals . `` I love it as well thus as in its dewy freshness , '' observed he , pressing the withered rose to his withered lips . While he spoke the butterfly fluttered down from the doctor 's snowy head and fell upon the floor . His guests shivered again . A strange dullness -- whether of the body or spirit they could not tell -- was creeping gradually over them all . They gazed at one another , and fancied that each fleeting moment snatched away a charm and left a deepening furrow where none had been before . Was it an illusion ? Had the changes of a lifetime been crowded into so brief a space , and were they now four aged people sitting with their old friend Dr. Heidegger ? `` Are we grown old again so soon ? '' cried they , dolefully . In truth , they had . The Water of Youth possessed merely a virtue more transient than that of wine ; the delirium which it created had effervesced away . Yes , they were old again . With a shuddering impulse that showed her a woman still , the widow clasped her skinny hands before her face and wished that the coffin-lid were over it , since it could be no longer beautiful . `` Yes , friends , ye are old again , '' said Dr. Heidegger , `` and , lo !
the Water XXXXX Youth is all lavished on the ground .
In With as of since so than that to upon