|
Ah,
well-a-day
The air is bright with hues
of light
And rich with laughter and
with singing:
Young hearts beat high in
ecstasy,
And banners wave, and bells
are ringing:
But silence falls with
fading day,
And there's an end to mirth
and play.
Ah, well-a-day
Rest your old bones, ye
wrinkled crones!
The kettle sings, the
firelight dances.
Deep be it quaffed, the
magic draught
That fills the soul with
golden fancies!
For Youth and Pleasance
will not stay,
And ye are withered, worn,
and gray.
Ah, well-a-day!
O fair cold face! O form of
grace,
For human passion madly
yearning!
O weary air of dumb
despair,
From marble won, to marble
turning!
"Leave us not thus!" we
fondly pray.
"We cannot let thee pass
away!"
Ah, well-a-day!
|
