Do you gather them up, as they faded fast,
Like buds with an early blight?”
“I think of the hopes that are gone, Robin,
And I mourn not their stay was fleet,
For they fell as the leaves of the roses fall,
And were even in falling sweet.”
“Do you think of the friends that are gone, Jeannie,
As you sit by the fire at night?
Do you wish they were round you again once more,
By the hearth that they made so bright?”