Ballades IV - Of Life

SAY, fair maids, maying  

In gardens green,  

In deep dells straying,  

What end hath been  

Two Mays between

Of the flowers that shone  

And your own sweet queen?—  

“They are dead and gone!”  

Say, grave priests, praying  

In dule and teen,  

From cells decaying  

What have ye seen  

Of the proud and mean,  

Of Judas and John,  

Of the foul and clean?—  

“They are dead and gone!”  

Say, kings, arraying  

Loud wars to win,  

Of your manslaying  

What gain ye glean?

“They are fierce and keen,  

But they fall anon,  

On the sword that lean,—  

They are dead and gone!”  

ENVOY

Through the mad world’s scene

We are drifting on,  

To this tune, I ween,  

“They are dead and gone!”