Haste on, my joys! your treasure lies
—In swift, unceasing flight.
O haste: for while your beauty flies
—I seize your full delight.
Lo! I have seen the scented flower,
—Whose tender stems I cull,
For her brief date and meted hour
—Appear more beautiful.

O youth, O strength, O most divine
—For that so short ye prove;
Were but your rare gifts longer mine,
—Ye scarce would win my love.
Nay, life itself the heart would spurn,
—Did once the days restore
The days, that once enjoyed return,
—Return—ah! nevermore.