Why, why repine, my pensive friend
At pleasures slipped away?
Some the stern fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.
I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass;
I see them and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.
With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; ’twere vain;
In this, or in some other spot,
I know they will shine again.
— Walter Savage Landor.
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