To-Day

WHERE hast thou gone, my Day?I meant to follow,Extracting from thine every hour its sweet;But thou, beguiling hope with pledges hollow,Art flown on wingèd feet.

Hardly I greet thy morn,The glory dwindles;And as I plan thy moments with delight,The evening-primrose in my pathway kindlesHer taper for the night.

Ah, too precipitate!Might I not lingerTo gather a stray blossom by the way,But pointing onward with thy warning finger,Thou must outstrip me, Day?

Gladly I welcomed thee,An eager loverWho deemed he knew each fleeting moment's cost,Is there no way, no method, to recoverThe treasure I have lost?Ah, no! From Time, alas!One may not borrow;Nor move him what is squandered to restore.The tide flows back, and there may dawn a morrow.Thee I shall find no more.