Elegy

I HAVE lov'd flowers that fade, Within whose magic tents Rich hues have marriage made With sweet unmemoried scents: A honeymoon delight,— A joy of love at sight, That ages in an hour:— My song be like a flower! I have lov'd airs that die Before their charm is writ Along a liquid sky Trembling to welcome it. Notes, that with pulse of fire Proclaim the spirit 's desire, Then die, and are nowhere:— My song be like an air! Die, song, die like a breath, And wither as a bloom: Fear not a flowery death, Dread not an airy tomb! Fly with delight, fly hence! 'T was thine love's tender sense To feast; now on thy bier Beauty shall shed a tear.