fair bird of winter's pleasant nights,
depart at once thou must
when summer's incense valour'd burns
and wafts about with gust

thy sickening sweet hawthorn is gone
rose buds bloom in his grave
like they, like we, art all but same,
of time and season slave!

So long! fair bird, take my adieu
and of our season past;
that fought in vain the mighty tide
of change, but could not last

with change of season, bird must leave
and bid her flower adieu
only till blossom ripens fast
and old's replaced by new