108 
And thus it is with all fair things, 
All that we love and prize the most; 
A season — aye, a day oft brings 
The withering blight, and they are lost; 
Gay thoughts — high hopes — deep feelings, all 
Must wear the dark funereal pall! 
And Life! — aye Life is here portrayed, 
It dawns like Summer’s brightest leaf, 
Is hke this morning’s sky arrayed 
In beauties evanescent — brief — 
For Sorrow’s clouds he thick and soon 
As evening’s shadows follow noon. 
For even hke those drooping flowers 
Fast hastening to the silent tomb, 
A few short days — a few short hours — 
And all things lose their transient bloom; 
The friends who read tills strain, — and I,— 
Must follow, — hke a passing sigh. 
