On earth the shadows follow.
Grow green, old trees, where'er you may
Your festival be keeping;—
On branch and stem, on leaf and spray,
Decay is slowly creeping.
Bloom bright, fair flowers, in wild or mead,
Around you all perfuming;—
The blight that mingles with each seed,
The blossom is consuming.
Grow well, sweet fruit, on garden walls,