SWEET flowers, the year with speedy pomp adorn; Infirm and old, I linger for your sight; Quick, with your sheen make gay the opening morn; Quick, with your scent embalm the closing night. To-morrow ye might bloom too late for me; Age finds a rock concealed 'neath every wave. The glorious sunshine that shall bid you be Will shine, perchance to-morrow, on my grave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES WRITTEN IN AN OVID by MATTHEW PRIOR A CHRISTMAS CAMP ON THE SAN GABR'EL by AMELIA EDITH HUDDLESTON BARR IN REFERENCE TO HER CHILDREN, 23 JUNE, 1659 by ANNE BRADSTREET MUSE IN LATE NOVEMBER by JONATHAN HENDERSON BROOKS THE WANDERER: DEDICATION by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON GRACE AFTER MEAT (2) by ROBERT BURNS A HINT TO A YOUNG PERSON, .. IMPROVEMENT, BY READING OR CONVERSATION by JOHN BYROM TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. LIFE BEHIND LIFE by EDWARD CARPENTER |