At twilight, with’ring on a thorn;
Like the gentle ROSE of spring;
Chill’d by ev’ry Zephyr’s wing;
Ah! how soon its colour flies,
Blushes, trembles, falls, and DIES.
What is YOUTH? in smiling sorrow,
Blithe to-day, and sad to-morrow:
Never fix’d, for ever ranging,
Laughing, weeping, doating, changing;
Wild, capricious, giddy, vain,