Its verdure stript, and pale its faded bloom.
I marvelled at the spoiling flight of time,
That roses thus grew old in earliest prime.
E’en while I speak, the crimson leaves drop round,
And a red brightness veils the blushing ground.
These forms, these births, these changes, bloom, decay,
Appear and vanish in the self-same day.
One day the rose’s age; and while it blows,
In dawn of youth, it withers to its close.
O virgins! roses cull while yet ye may;