TO ALL THAT’S GLORIOUS AND BRIGHT.

He hath made everything beautiful

in his time. Eccles. iii. 11.

To all that’s glorious and bright

The poet vows his shell;

To youth, and beauty’s fair delight,

And fancy’s warmer spell:

The world of loveliness is his,

And his the summer’s bloom,

And his the wildwood’s harmonies,

And birds of faery plume.

These lovely things, like him, must die!

They vanish while he sings;

And what has pleased the poet’s eye,

Must grieve his pensive strings.

And ever was his song—a tear,

A sigh for beauty fled:

And harps that woke to charm and cheer,

Must soon lament the dead!

I’ve seen the loveliness I loved,

Like frailest flowers decay:

And while the Spring’s young joys I proved,

My spring-time passed away.

And boyhood’s mirth is but a name,

Ere boyhood’s tears are dried,

And hopes in golden hues that came,

Like golden dreams have died.

And false thy promise, empty Earth,

I trust thy show no more;

I’ve learned of my immortal birth,

And spurn this stranger shore;

And Heaven, my home, my haven bright,

To Heaven be vowed my shell;

My soul to its inspiring light,

And fancy’s hallowed spell.