Song

"O Love is like the roses,
And every rose shall fall,
For sure as summer closes
They perish one and all.
Then love, while leaves are on the tree,
And birds sing in the bowers:
When winter comes, too late 't will be
To pluck the happy flowers."

"O Love is like the roses,
Love comes, and Love must flee!
Before the summer closes
Love's rapture and Love's glee!"