Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/229

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It is written on the trees, As their young leaves glistening play, And on brighter things than these— "Passing away."

It is written on the brow Where the spirit's ardent ray Lives, burns, and triumphs now— "Passing away."

It is written on the heart— Alas! that there decay Should claim from love a part— "Passing away."

Friends! friends!—oh! shall we meet In a land of purer day, Where lovely things and sweet Pass not away?