To Blossoms

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
    Why do ye fall so fast?
    Your date is not so past
But you may stay yet here a while,
    To blush and gently smile;
      And go at last.

What! were ye born to be
    An hour or half’s delight,
    And so to bid good-night?
’Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
    Merely to show your worth,
      And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
    May read how soon things have
    Their end, though ne’er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
    Like you a while, they glide
      Into the grave.
To Blossoms

by Robert Herrick, 1648
