Faster than petals fall on windy days
From ruined roses,
Hope after hope falls fluttering, and decays,
Ere the year closes.
For little hopes, that open but to die,
And little pleasures,
Divide the long, sad year, that labors by,
Into short measures.
Yea, let them go! our day-lived hopes are not
The life we cherish;
Love lives, till disappointments are forgot,
And sorrows perish.
On withered boughs, where still the old leaf clings,
New leaves come never;
And in the heart, where hope hangs faded, springs
No new endeavor.