Page:Amulet 1828.pdf/2



And thus they flit away Earth's lovely things.

the snow—the summer snow— On the lovely lily flower? Where the hues the sunset shed O'er the rose's crimson hour? Where's the gold—the pure bright gold— O'er the young laburnum flung; And the fragrant sighs that breathed Whence the hyacinth drooping hung? Gone, gone—they all are gone.

Maiden, lovelier than the spring, Is thy bloom departed too? Has thy cheek forgot its rose, Or thine eye its April blue? Where are thy sweet bursts of song? Where the wreaths that bound thy hair? Where the thousand prisoner curls? And thy sunny smiles are—Where?— Gone, gone—they all are gone.