A farewell taste of honeyed spring, for dead
Is all the clover on its fragrant bed;—
And bloomless rose vines o'er the trellis climb.
Sometimes across the still and cheerless night,
The farewells of the flocks are softly heard,
As to the warm savannahs they take flight,
Following the sad and tuneful mocking-bird.
And numerous winds are murmuring sudden loss,
Like cries of Hylas through the Mysian land;
Or doleful chords on Grecian citherns played