  'O Heaven! were man But constant, he were perfect; that one error Fills him with faults, makes him run through all sins.' Two Gentlemen of Verona Are they truly dying, All the summer leaves? Will the blasts of autumn Strip the happy trees? Bright the glowing foliage Paints the misty air— Crimson, purple, golden— Must they die—so fair? Where has flown the sunshine Wooed them to their birth, Tempting them to flutter Far above the earth? Ruthless did it leave them In their hour of bloom, Let the chill blasts whisper Tales of death and doom? Rapidly they robed them In each varied hue, Hoping thus the sunshine To attract anew; But the fickle glitter Looked in anger down, Freezing up the life-pulse With an icy frown. Then the happy radiance Sinks to rise no more; Leaves of gold and crimson Strew earth's gloomy floor. Gone their summer glory, Lifeless, lost, they lie; Wilted, withered, drifting As winds will, they fly. Thus in woman's bosom Love wakes bud and bloom, 'Neath his glowing sunshine Thinking not of doom; Spread the branches green, Hope's bright birds sing through them— Close the leafy screen. Through the quivering foliage Falls a sudden fear! Leaves are rustling, trembling— Feel change drawing near! Brighter then they robe them, Call on every hue, Color every fibre— Love to win anew. Summon gold and crimson, Bright as dyed in blood; Hectic fever flushes Pour in anguished flood! Gone the healthful quiet Of the summer green; Hope-birds turn to ravens, Sighs the leafy screen. Love looks down in anger On the wildering show; Freezing follows change-frost— Love heaps ice and snow! Then the fevered radiance Fades from life's doomed tree; Wilted, withered, drifting, Bud, bloom, leaves we see. Love looks down upon them, Wonders how it came— Thinks through all his changing They should bloom the same: Did not know his change-frost Had the power to kill; Did not deem his frowning Life's quick pulse could still! Gone the fickle sunshine! Gone the rosy hours! Gone love's early wooing! Gone the healthful powers! Come and cool the hectic, Chill the fevered glow, Pale the crimson flushing, Death, beneath thy snow! |
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