Classic Poem

Can the rose of summer fade,
The bright and blooming rose?
Shall winter sweep the glade,
Where its tender beauty blows?
There is perfume in the air,
And it steals from the opening flower;
But the winds shall rudely tear
The treasures of field and bower.

They fade, — how soon they fade,
The flowers of earth and sky!
Was all that beauty made,
To smile a moment and die?
O, will not the colors stay,
That glow in the west at even,
And the hues of the rising day
Be ever the charm of heaven?

O, let me not think the flowers
Shall ever be borne away
From the full and loaded bowers,
Where they welcome the early day.
I would not indulge one thought,
That a rose or a cheek could wither;
But believe their colors, caught
From heaven, shall be wafted thither.