Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn Her death-bed steeps in tears: -- to hail the May New blooming blossoms 'neath the sun are born, And all poor April's charms are swept away. The early primrose, peeping once so gay, Is now choked up with many a mounting weed, And the poor violet we once admired Creeps in the grass unsought for -- flowers succeed, Gaudy and new, and more to be desired, And of the old the school-boy seemeth tired. So with us all, poor April, as with thee! Each hath its day; -- the future brings my fears: Friends may grow weary, new flowers rising be, And my last end, like thine, be steeped in tears. |