Too soon so fair fair lilies

OO soon so fair, fair lilies;

To bloom is then to wane;
The folded bud has still
To-morrow at its will;

Blown flowers can never blow again.
Too soon so bright, bright noontide;

The sun that now is high
Will henceforth only sink
Towards the western brink;

Day that's at prime begins to die.
Too soon so rich, ripe summer,

For autumn tracks thee fast;
Lo, death-marks on the leaf!
Sweet summer, and my grief;

For summer come is summer past.
Too soon, too soon, lost summer;

Some hours and thou art o'er.
Ah! death is part of birth:
Summer leaves not the earth,

But last year's summer lives no more.