Classic Poem

The wandering year from day to day discloses
First lenten lilies, then midsummer roses,
And ends at last in sombre fantasy,
About the season of the stripping tree,
With asters and dark daisies and the strange
Chrysanthemums. And so from change to change
The shimmering months proceed in shifting dresses
And strew the meadows and the wildernesses,
For there in grass the daffodils are born
And the wild rose-buds hanging on the thorn.
All these are good, but this perplexes me,
That blossom holds not longer on the tree,
For in the morning the tall pear stands white
With fragile petals that are shed at night,
And the apple wears her trembling sweet array
For hardly longer than a short spring day.
Would they might further live or would that I
Might see three springs without a break go by!