The Lost By Jones Very

The fairest day that ever yet has shone,
Will be when thou the day within halt see;
The fairest rose that ever yet has blown,
When thou the flower thou lookest on shalt be.
But thou art far away among Time’s toys;
Thyself the flower that now thine eye enjoys,
But wilted now thou hang’st upon thy stem.
The bird thou hearest on the budding tree,
Thou hast made sing with thy forgotten voice;
But when it swells again to melody,
The song is thine in which thou wilt rejoice;
And thou new risen midst these wonders live,
That now to them dost all thy substance give.


Wilted : faded
Budding : promising
Rejoice : to make merry