A Mood

Behold! How fair it is to see in Spring,
The frozen river once more thaw and run
Under fresh wind, and warm, soft, flickering sun!
Is it not good to dance and laugh and sing.
To feel somewhile the lips of pleasure sting?
Lo! now the fairness of a love well won; —
But then things pass, and some day Spring is done;
And, since we see there are no joys that cling.

Would it not be far wiser to have none?
Time's tide is dark and bitter with our tears;
Why should we swell it with the greater pain
Of fair gone things; a few, glad, golden years?
Of one sad color let our days be spun.
So we may live, nor weep to see life wane.