We have no rain, we have no sun,
We only watch the moments run
Like little adders thro’ the leaves,
Lost ere their flitting has begun.
The cool light airs that fan our brow,
What aromatic sweets they know!
The tall tired trees that make our sky
Are lapped in spices as they bow.
The bright-eyed flowers that form our bed,
Like eager jewels, blue and red,
Seem brimmed with gay immortal life,
Yet we dream on when they are dead.