The season’s glory fades—the vintage lay
Through joyous Italy resounds no more;
But mortal loveliness hath pass’d away,
Fairer than aught in summer’s glowing store.
Beauty and youth are gone—behold them such
As death hath made them with his blighting touch!
The summer’s breath came o’er them—and they died!
Softly it came to give luxuriance birth,
Call’d forth young nature in her festal pride,
But bore to them their summons from the earth!