When twilight's beams are fleeting
With silent haste away,
And night and day are meeting
Out o'er the western sea :
And when the sun's departed,
Should I with weak regret,
Grieve that he ever rose to me,
Because he now hath set ?

And when the rose is dying
Which grac'd our wihl-wood bovver,
And Autumn winds are flying
Aroimd the trembling flower,
When ruthless blasts have stolen
Its fragrant breath away,
Shall I regret that once it bloom'd
And liv'd its summer's day?

From thee when I was parted,
My day of joy was fled,
My sun of bliss departed,
My rose of pleasure dead !
The sunny hour has vanished,
Its flight shall I deplore ?
'Tis bliss to think thou once wert mine.
Though thou art mine no more.