Sonnet Written at the Close of Spring

THE GARLANDS fade that Spring so lately wove,

Each simple flower which she has nurs’d in dew,

Anemones, that spangled every grove,

The primrose wan, and harebell mildly blue.

No more shall violets linger in the dell,

Or purple orchis variegate the plain,

Till Spring again shall call forth every bell

And dress with hurried hands her wreaths again.

Ah, poor humanity! so frail, so fair,

And the fond visions of thy early day,

Till tyrant passion and corrosive care

Bid all thy fairy colours flee away!

Another May new birds and flowers shall bring;

Ah! why has happiness no second spring?