With its bright colours, intermixed with spots To find a single flower, but all in vain; To hear, within the woodland's sunny side, From some tall beech, fast falling through the leaves. "My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail-its date is brief, Restless-and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent-tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall breathe a sigh for me! . |