A paleness was over her beauty thrown,
For she heard the death-spirit on her calling!
Lowly she bent her royal head,
And mourned in tones of plaintive sweetness
That mortals should call her the fading rose—
The rose of early, perishing fleetness!
“Ungrateful man! do I not make
My span of life, though short, delicious?
And yield you rich perfumes after death?
But there is no bound to human wishes