Jones Very (1813–1880)

THY BEAUTY fades, and with it too my love,

For ’t was the selfsame stalk that bore its flower;

Soft fell the rain, and breaking from above

The sun looked out upon our nuptial hour;

And I had thought forever by thy side

With bursting buds of hope in youth to dwell;

But one by one Time strewed thy petals wide,

And every hope’s wan look a grief can tell:

For I had thoughtless lived beneath his sway,

Who like a tyrant dealeth with us all,

Crowning each rose, though rooted on decay,

With charms that shall the spirit’s love enthrall,

And for a season turn the soul’s pure eyes

From virtue’s changeless bloom, that time and death defies.