So soon departed from these lovely bowers.
Once plucked, these buds will never bless the showers,
Sweet charities, by wearing wonted charms,
But lose for aye their balm for summer hours;
So all her showery grief him no more charms,
To spring and rest a joy in her exulting arms.
She deems he sleeps within the envious ground,
Which stole him early from her young, warm breast,
No more her brow with wild flower wreaths is bound,
And all her ornaments, neglected, rest;