FOR A PICTURE OF WATTEAU.HERE the vague winds have rest;The forest breathes in sleep,Lifting a quiet breast;It is the hour of rest.How summer glides away!An autumn pallor bloomsUpon the check of day.Come, lovers, come away!But here, where dead leaves fallUpon the grass, what strains,Languidly musical,Mournfully rise and fall?Light loves that woke with springThis autumn afternoonBeholds meandering,Still, to the strains of spring.Your dancing feet are faint,Lovers: the air recedesInto a sighing plaint,Faint, as your loves are faint.It is the end, the end,The dance of love’s decease.Feign no more now, fair friend!It is the end, the end.
HERE the vague winds have rest;The forest breathes in sleep,Lifting a quiet breast;It is the hour of rest.
How summer glides away!An autumn pallor bloomsUpon the check of day.Come, lovers, come away!
But here, where dead leaves fallUpon the grass, what strains,Languidly musical,Mournfully rise and fall?
Light loves that woke with springThis autumn afternoonBeholds meandering,Still, to the strains of spring.
Your dancing feet are faint,Lovers: the air recedesInto a sighing plaint,Faint, as your loves are faint.
It is the end, the end,The dance of love’s decease.Feign no more now, fair friend!It is the end, the end.