To Blossoms

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past
But you may stay yet here awhile

To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be
An hour or half’s delight,
And so to bid good night?
’Twas pity Nature brought you forth
Merely to show your worth

And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne’er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
Like you awhile, they glide
Into the grave.