Things that are made to fade and fall away.
When they have blossom’d but a few short hours.
Love not, love not.
Love not, love not: the thing you love may die—
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,
Beam on its grave as once upon its birth.
Love not, love not.
Love not, love not: the thing you love may change,
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you;