Youth now flees on feathered foot Faint and fainter sounds the flute, Rarer songs of gods; and still Somewhere on the sunny hill, Or along the winding stream, Through the willows, flits a dream;
Flits but shows a smiling face, Flees but with so quaint a grace, None can choose to stay at home, All must follow, all must roam.
This is unborn beauty: she Now in air floats high and free, Takes the sun and breaks the blue; -
Late with stooping pinion flew Raking hedgerow trees, and wet Her wing in silver streams, and set Shining foot on temple roof:
Now again she flies aloof, Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't By the evening's amethyst.
In wet wood and miry lane, Still we pant and pound in vain;
Still with leaden foot we chase Waning pinion, fainting face;
Still with gray hair we stumble on, Till, behold, the vision gone!
Where hath fleeting beauty led?
To the doorway of the dead.
Life is over, life was gay:
We have come the primrose way.
