  Comes the broken flower— Comes the cheated maid— Though the tempest lower, Rain and cloud will fade! Take, O maid, these posies: Though thy beauty rare Shame the blushing roses, They are passing fair! Wear the flowers till they fade; Happy be thy life, O maid! O'er the season vernal, Time may cast a shade; Sunshine, if eternal, Makes the roses fade: Time may do his duty; Let the thief alone— Winter hath a beauty That is all his own. Fairest days are sun and shade: Happy be thy life, O maid! |
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