| |
| LEAVES have their time to fall, | |
| And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath, | |
| And stars to set—but all, | |
| Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! | |
| |
| Day is for mortal care, | 5 |
| Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, | |
| Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer— | |
| But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. | |
| |
| The banquet hath its hour, | |
| Its feverish hour, of mirth, and song, and wine; | 10 |
| There comes a day for grief’s o’erwhelming power, | |
| A time for softer tears—but all are thine. | |
| |
| Youth and the opening rose | |
| May look like things too glorious for decay, | |
| And smile at thee—but thou art not of those | 15 |
| That wait the ripen’d bloom to seize their prey…. | |
| |
| We know when moons shall wane, | |
| When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, | |
| When Autumn’s hue shall tinge the golden grain— | |
| But who shall teach us when to look for thee! | 20 |
| |
| Is it when Spring’s first gale | |
| Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? | |
| Is it when roses in our paths grow pale?— | |
| They have one season—all are ours to die!… | |
| |
| Leaves have their time to fall, | 25 |
| And flowers to wither at the north-wind’s breath, | |
| And stars to set—but all, | |
| Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! | |
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