Once bent to roving breezes’ kiss;
The faded flower on Autumn’s bier
Once seemed too gayly bright for this,
Nor did they droop and whisper all
Of mildew dank, of frost and blight;
But ever rang the wild-wood hall
With joyous song and murmur light.
And grievest thou, dear one, that life
Is but a dream that soon is past?
Fear’st thou the briefly bitter strife,