Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/169

 Joy by daytime Fills his playtime Full of songs loud mirth takes pride in; Night and morrow Weave round sorrow Thoughts as soft as sleep to hide in.

Graceless faces, Loveless graces, Are but motes in light that quicken, Sands that run down Ere the sundown, Roseleaves dead ere autumn sicken.

Fair and fruitless Charms are bootless