Ehue! Fugaces, Posthume, Labuntur Anni

Fleeting years are ever bearing In their silent course away All that in our pleasures sharing Lent to life a cheering ray. Beauty's cheek but blooms to wither, Smiling hours but come to fly; They are gone; Time's but the giver Of whate'er is doomed to die. Thou may'st touch with blighting finger All that sense can here enjoy; Yet within my soul shall linger That which thou canst not destroy. Love's sweet voice shall there awaken Joys that earth cannot impart; Joys that live when thou hast taken All that here can charm the heart. As the years come gliding by me, Fancy's pleasing visions rise; Beauty's cheek, ah! still I see thee, Still your glances, soft blue eyes!