Canzonet Poem by Charles Bucke
Canzonet
The days of our happiness gliding away,
A year seems a moment, and ages a day;
But Fortune converting our smiles into tears,
What an age a diminutive moment appears!
But Fortune, &c., &c.
Oh! Fortune,—possess'd of so fickle a name—
Why only in this art thou ever the same?
Oh change!—and bid moments of pleasure move slow,
And give eagle plumes to the pinions of woe.
Oh change! &c., &c.
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4/26/2024 11:33:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
