How many seek thee, smiling now,
Who soon shall look with clouded brow,
Heart filled with bitter doubt and wo,
And eyes with gathering tears!
But late, they fancied—life’s parade
Still moving on—that not a shade
Thou flung’st on bower and sunny glade,
In which they took delight:
Sharp satirist! methinks I see
Thy glance in sternest mockery—