Song

NOW the days are brief and drear:

Naked lies the new-born Year

In his cradle of the snow,

And the winds unbridled blow,

And the skies hang dark and low, --

For the Summers come and go.

Leave the clashing cymbals mute!

Pipe no more the happy flute!

Sing no more that dancing rhyme

Of the rose's harvest-time; --

Sing a requiem, sad and low:

For the Summers come and go.

Where is Youth? He strayed away

Through the meadow-flowers of May.

Where is Love? The leaves that fell

From his trysting-bower, can tell.

Wisdom stays, sedate and slow,

And the Summers come and go.

Yet a few more years to run,

Wheeling round in gloom and sun:

Other raptures, other woes, --

Toil alternate with Repose:

Then to sleep where daisies grow,

While the Summers come and go.

Bayard Taylor

Index to poems in the collection by Bayard Taylor