Alas, how brief and grudg'd our Spring!
Ah, flow'ry days how vanishing!
E'en so ye hasten on and on
With an unceasing motion.
And thou, sweet Beauty, brightly flashing,
But all too soon thy fairness dashing,
To depths of lowest Night must go:
Ah, losing there thy hasty glow;
Dark'ning mists around thee clinging,
And thy loveliness swift-winging:
A love that brightens to deceive;
A dream-shadow, fugitive.
Ye therefore o'er whom Life's young Day
Shineth still with golden ray,
Seize--Fate's harsh distaff makes appeal,
And hoary Time's quick-whirling wheel,
As round and round the circle spins,
And to furthest distance wins--
Seize ye the gliding seasons fleet,
And dews of vernal Phosphor sweet,
And new-blown flowers' brightness meet.
O, what to tender loves ye owe,
Waste not on Chaos dark below,
Where pallid ghosts dim-gleaming go.
Though, Beauty, on thy starry cheeks,
Where snow's white pureness ever breaks,
And where gazing, we see born
Roses fresh without all thorn,
Buds intertwining undefil'd,
Spotless as e'er a grace-born child:
Though thou with everlasting faith
Fosterest with thy nectar'd breath
Myriad Loves, and dost them feed
With honey'd feast of heavenly mead
In gentle draughts; and they roam round
In thy realms, and aye are found
Surfeiting themselves with play
In one amorous holiday;
Happy in the drenching dew,
And seeking ever to renew
Their torch-flames at thy fair eyes,
And whet blunt arrows' ecstasies
With sweet juice that in honey lies:
And so, with their flame relumed,
Deftly hover, airy-plumed;
Waving higher still and higher
Their torches that raise soft desire;
Menacing the very stars,
Yea the old heavens i' their wars:
Although beneath thy high-arch'd brow
Sits Majesty, nor doth allow
To wanton loves such liberty
As mocks the Ruler of the sky;
But in their wild career gives pause,
Imposing on them Love's sweet laws:
Though thy whole frame in every part
Sets forth the sky as in a chart;
Though thy fair face in every look
Shows heaven in page of living book;
To Earth reveals the starry skies
In the bright glances of thine eyes:
Yet, alas, on these fair cheeks,
Where the rose all-blushing speaks,
There shall come the snow's sad whiteness,
And the red, heart-breaking brightness:
On the 'human face divine,'
That as a star doth radiant shine,
There shall come the deep'ning shadow,
As clouds across the dappl'd meadow.
On the high state of the brow
To-morrow Death may make his blow;
And all of Nature's bravery
Gone, in the Grave's cavern lie.
Alas, the fairest is the fleetest!
Alas, how short-liv'd is the sweetest!
Alas, the richest is the rarest!
Alas, that Death doth spoil the fairest! G.