Are blooming now, and will have died with me:
The same sun bids us all revive to-day,
And the same winds will bid us to decay;
When Winter comes we all shall be no more—
Departed into dust—next, covered o'er
By Spring's reviving green. See, Percy, now
How red my cheek—how red my roses blow!
But come again when blasts of Autumn come;
Then mark their changing leaves, their blighted bloom;
Then come to my bedside, then look at me,