John Byrom

Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me
But dreams of what has been, no more to be.

Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me
But dreams of what has been, no more to be.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow.

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow.

Ah, happy years, once more who would not be a boy!

Ah, happy years, once more who would not be a boy!

But scandal's my aversion--I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

But scandal's my aversion--I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.