The children crown'd themselves with roses,
And all the roses died!
Pale on the soft brown locks they lay,
Like a dream of spring on a cold white day,
In the barren winter-tide.
Oh, throw the fading vision by!
Make a crown that cannot die.
The children crown'd themselves with diamonds,
And could not bear the weight;
Down they droop their weary curls,
Like a leaf that falls or a sail that furls,
When the night is dark and late.
Oh, throw away the useless things!
Crowns should be as light as wings.
The children crown'd themselves with wishes,
And every wish came true;
Love lies soft on each fair head,
Kisses dry the tears they shed,—
Hope each day is new.
Keep that crown, nor keep in vain!
If it dies, it grows again.