And soared in the sunshine, the moth of the hour!
From beauty to beauty I passed, like the wind;
Now fondled the lily, now toyed with the rose;
And the fair, that at morn had enchanted my mind,
Was forsook for another ere evening’s close.
* * * * *
But weep for the hour! Life’s summer is past,
And the snow of its winter lies cold on my brow;
And my soul as it shrinks from each stroke of the blast,
Can not turn to a fire that glows inwardly now.