Beauty—'tis but a beam, a flickering flame,
A flower that withers, whose gay colors die;
Such, erst, was Helen's, of historic fame,
Such thine, fair lady of the diamond eye.
As fades the lily on the water's breast,
So fades thy color, shown thee in thy glass;
As fade the flowers wherewith thy head is drest,
So quick away thy beauty too shall pass.
Love, golden-winged, away doth quickly fly,
When Time's dark pinions heard are flapping near,