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121

Then on the garden seat in haste
The fragrant spoil we ranged,
And oft their place beneath thy taste
The patient buds exchanged:
Nor few the nosegays to be wrought
In honour of the day,
For in that household none was thought
Too humble to be gay.

And what sweet eves come slanting bright
Across the emerald floor!
What voices rise, like founts of light!
—Now dark for evermore!
What laughter on the still air rings!
Alas that laughters die
(Such foresight clogs even lightest things)
In action of a sigh.

The thunders of the battledore
Assault the day's decline!
The lamp within shines more and more,
The chimes are jangling nine!
Confusion on thee, drudging clock!
We only own to-day
Time vaulting with the shuttlecock
That leads our joyful play.