These lovely things I saw in flower,
White-veiled and tall the woodland cherry trees,
For carpet at their feet anemones
All lovely for an hour.

This gladsome sight I saw, the tryst
Of boy and girl beneath the hawthorn boughs;
To all eternity they pledged their vows,
Yet these shall pass like mist.

This splendid scene I saw, the pride
Of young brave men who marched with fife and drum,
Certain, yet reckless of the pain to come,
Who lives when these have died?

The blossom drifts upon the sod,
The lovers and the soldiers turn to dust,
If beauty fade, love die and honour rust — ?
O fool, leave that to God.