To Blossoms
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do you fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.
What! were ye born to be
An hour or half’s delight,
And so to bid good-night?
’Tis pity nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne’er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you awhile, they glide
Into the grave.