 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
129
TO THE MAY FLY OF THE ANGLER.
Thou art a frail and lovely thing,
Engendered by the sun;
A moment only on the wing
And thy career is done.
Engendered by the sun;
A moment only on the wing
And thy career is done.
Thou sportest in the evening beam
An hour—an age to thee—
In gayety above the stream
Which soon thy grave must be.
An hour—an age to thee—
In gayety above the stream
Which soon thy grave must be.
Although thy life is like to thee,
An atom—art thou not
Far happier than thou e'er couldst be
If long life were thy lot?
An atom—art thou not
Far happier than thou e'er couldst be
If long life were thy lot?
For then deep pangs might wound thy breast,
And make thee wish for death;
But as it is, thou'rt soon at rest,
Thou creature of a breath.
And make thee wish for death;
But as it is, thou'rt soon at rest,
Thou creature of a breath.
| A little book of tribune verse | |