Story of a Spring Morning
As some wild floweret Placed in costly halls,Blooms oversweet an hour, Then fades and falls,
Thus fleets a vision, Youth so vainly won;But after dews of morn, Youth's dream has gone.
The rose is sweetest When half promising;The heart is lightest in The dream of spring.
At morning twilight, Starry-eyed and free,Fair Beauty tells each flower Her rosary.
And when the sunlight Bids the fields awake,A thousand scented dreams The flowers unshake.
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