The Spring spreads one green lap of flowers

Which Autumn buries at the fall,

No chilling showers of Autumn hours

Can stay them or recall;

Winds sing a dirge, while earth lays out of sight

Her garment of delight.

The cloven East brings forth the sun,

The cloven West doth bury him

What time his gorgeous race is run

And all the world grows dim;

A funeral moon is lit in heaven’s hollow,

And pale the star-lights follow.