Classic Poem

Delicious May is with us now,
Bud days, and days of tryst and vow;
And is not this the time of times
To read dear Bobby Herrick's rhymes?

Sweet singer, dumb these many years,
What is it thus thy verse endears?
Each spring the flowers bloom anew,
Each spring thy rhymes—they're flowers too.

In Devonshire's fair fields of green
The primrose yet is thickly seen,
And daffodils still haste away
As soon, alas! as in thy day.

We pass, ere noon, and are forgot;
But thy sweet voice, why heed it not,
Allowing us, in gentlest rhyme,
The harmless folly of our time?

Soon must all things that glad the sight
Be drowned with us in endless night.
Ah! happy man, who chanced to say:
“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”

E'en rare Ben Jonson's fame is half
Due to his curious epitaph;
But thou shalt 'scape oblivion's doom
While springs shall smile and flowers bloom.