High art briefly glimpsed be thou
Oh waving, wispish blossom bough
All pink your precious petals preen
Through nature's narrow window seen
Come April sun, thy tresses flush
For we to scent all in a rush
By May thy garlands too soon strewn
Do fade to pale below cold moon
From gaiety to frailty,
'Tis surely nature's cruelty
Why must the wind so urgently
Deflower the gentle blossom tree?