Hebe

TH! thou art a lovely time,

With thy wild and dreaming eyes;

Looking onwards to their prime,

Coloured by their April skies,

Yet I do not wish for thee,

Pass, oh! quickly pass from me.

Thou hast all too much unrest,

Haunted by vain hopes and fears;

Though thy cheeks with smiles be drest,

Yet that cheek is wet with tears.

Bitter are the frequent showers,

Falling in thy sunny hours.

Let my heart grow calm and cold,

Calm to sorrow, cold to love;

Let affections loose their hold,

Let my spirit look above.

I am weary—youth pass on.

All thy dearest gifts are gone.

She in whose sweet form the

Bade his loveliest vision dwell;

She of yon bright cup and cheek,

From her native heaven fell:

Type of what may never last,

Soon the heaven of youth is past.

Oh! farewell—for never

Can thy dreams again be mine;

Hope and truth and faith are o'er,

And the heart which was their

Has no boon of thee to seek,

Asking but to rest or break.