IT IS LATER THAN YOU THINK 



How could it be so fair, and you away? 



How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay? 

 Could they remember but last year, 

 How you did them, they you delight, 

 The sprouting leaves which saw you here, 

 And called their fellows to the sight, 



Would, looking round for the same sight in vain, 



Creep back into their silent barks again. 



Where'er you walk'd trees were as reverend 

 made, 



As when of old gods dwelt in every shade. 

 Is't possible they should not know, 

 What loss of honour they sustain, 

 That thus they smile and flourish now, 

 And still their former pride retain? 



Dull creatures! 'tis not without cause that she, 



Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree. 



In ancient times sure they much wiser were, 

 When they rejoic'd the Thracian verse to hear; 

 In vain did nature bid them stay, 

 When Orpheus had his song begun, 

 They call'd their wondering roots away, 

 And bade them silent to him run. 



[79] 



