Idly you lost what angels gave!
Sunbeams cover that silent mound
With a warmer hue than your roses’ red;
To-morrow’s rain will bedew the ground
With a purer stream than the tears you shed.
But neither the sweets of the scattered flowers,
Nor the morning sunlight’s soft command,
Nor all the songs of the summer showers,
Can charm her back from that distant land.
Tenderest vows are ever too late!