To Giulia Grisi

Nathaniel Parker Willis

WHEN the rose is brightest,
    Its bloom will soonest die;
When burns the meteor brightest,
    ’T will vanish from the sky.
If Death but wait until delight
    O’errun the heart like wine,
And break the cup when brimming quite,
I die—for thou hast poured to-night
    The last drop into mine.

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