Desespoir

The seasons send their ruin as they go,

      For in the spring the narciss shows its head

      Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red,

And in the autumn purple violets blow,

And the slim crocus stirs the winter snow;

      Wherefore yon leafless trees will bloom again

      And this grey land grow green with summer rain

And send up cowslips for some boy to mow.

But what of life whose bitter hungry sea

      Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night

      Covers the days which never more return?

Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn

      We lose too soon, and only find delight

      In withered husks of some dead memory.