WHEN the down is on the chin

And the gold-gleam in the hair,

When the birds their sweethearts win

And champagne is in the air

Love is here, and Love is there,

Summer’s cheek too soon turns thin,

Day grows briefer, sunshine rare;

Autumn from his cannikin

Blows the froth to chase Despair:

Love is met with frosty stare,

Cannot house ’neath branches bare.

When new life is in the leaf

And new red is in the rose,

Though Love’s Maytime be as brief

As a dragon-fly’s repose,

Never moments come like those,

Be they Heaven or Hell: who knows?

All too soon comes Winter’s grief,

Spendthrift Love’s false friends turn foes;

Softly comes Old Age, the thief,

Steals the rapture, leaves the throes:

Love his mantle round him throws,—

“Time to say good-bye; it snows.”