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Sweet day, so
cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and
sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight;
For thou
must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in
its grave,
And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full
of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted
lie,
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all
must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like
seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole
world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
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