Poems | ||
152
THE ROSE-WREATHED HOUR-GLASS.
Poets while away their leisure,
Culling flowers of rhyme;
Thus they twine the wreath of pleasure
Round the glass of Time,
Culling flowers of rhyme.
Culling flowers of rhyme;
Thus they twine the wreath of pleasure
Round the glass of Time,
Culling flowers of rhyme.
Fancy's children, ever heedless,
Why thus bribe the hours?
Death to prove the trouble needless
Withers all your flowers;
Why then bribe the hours?
Why thus bribe the hours?
Death to prove the trouble needless
Withers all your flowers;
Why then bribe the hours?
Like the sand so fast retreating,
Thus your hopes shall fall;
Life and fame are just as fleeting;
Poets, flowers, and all:—
So your fancies fall.
Thus your hopes shall fall;
Life and fame are just as fleeting;
Poets, flowers, and all:—
So your fancies fall.
Poems | ||