But coughs will come when sighs depart—and now

And then before sighs cease; for oft the one

Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow

Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the Sun

Of Life reached ten o'clock: and while a glow,

Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done,

O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure for clay,

Thousands blaze, love, hope, die,—how happy they!—