To Blossoms

by Robert Herrick

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
  Why do ye fall so fast?
  Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
  To blush and gently smile,
    And go at last.

What, were ye born to be
  An hour or half’s delight;
  And so to bid good-night?
’Twas pity Nature brought ye forth,
  Merely to show your worth,
    And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
  May read how soon things have
  Their end, though ne’er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
  Like you, awhile, they glide
    Into the grave.