The flower that smiles to—day
         To—morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
         Tempts and then flies.
What is this world’s delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
         Brief even as bright.
  Virtue, how frail it is!
         Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
         For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
         Which ours we call.
  Whilst skies are blue and bright,
         Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
         Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—and from thy sleep
         Then wake to weep.

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