How purple their fringes!
How ashy their tinges
When that was gone!

Darkness that cometh
Ere morn has fled--
Boughs that wither
Ere fruits are shed--
Death bells instead
Of a bridal's pealings--
Such are my feelings,
Since Hope is dead!

Sad is the knowledge
That cometh with years--
Bitter the tree
That is watered with tears;
Truth appears,
With his wise predictions,
Then vanish the fictions
Of boyhood's years.

As fire-flies fade
When the nights are damp--
As meteors are quenched
In a stagnant swamp--
Thus Charlemagne's camp,
Where the Paladins rally,
And the Diamond Valley,
And Wonderful Lamp,