O happy rose-bud blooming Upon thy parent tree,-- Nay, thou art too presuming; For soon the earth entombing Thy faded charms shall be, And the chill damp consuming.
O happy skylark springing Up to the broad blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing, Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing.
And through life's shine and shower We shall have joy and pain; But in the summer bower, And at the morning hour, We still shall look in vain For the same bird and flower.