How sweet was the flowret
First blooming in spring,
When zephyrs breathed o'er it
With warm, balmy wing,
When the humming-bird hasted
Its sweetness to share,
And the butterfly tasted
Its odorous air.

Its leaves were extended,
Bright hues to disclose,
Where sweetly were blended
The lily and rose;
While young buds around it
Their fragrancy shed,
And verdant leaves crown'd it,
Adorning its bed.

But ah! sadly changed was
That flowret to view,
As lately I ranged
In the grove where it grew;
The cold wind was beating
Its withering form,
The dark clouds were meeting,
And boded a storm.

The humming-bird left it
When drooping its head,
The bee had bereft it
Of sweetness, and fled;
The sunbeams were shaded
Which first gave it birth,
Its bright leaves had faded,
And sunk to the earth.

Thus life's early promise,
The first buds of bloom,
Perchance are torn from us
And wrapp'd in the tomb;
Thus transient their semblance,
Thus swift their decay;
And sweet their remembrance,
When passing away!