The American Songster, Song

You've sure forgot, dear mother mine, When you was once as blithe as me; When vows were offer'd at your shrine, And lovers dropt on bended knee: When you could sing, and dance, and play; Alas! December treads on May.

Behold dame Nature's fav'rite blow, The rich jonquil, the blushing rose, How short a date their beauties know, Surrounded by a thousand foes! Till time decrees their full decay, And harsh December treads on May.

The whole creation own this truth, Then why should wrinkled brows exact. The mode severe on blooming youth, By which themselves could ever act? The blood that's warm will have its way, Too soon December treads on May.

Then swains, with tabor, pipe, and glee, Let's, whilst we're here, grim care deride; Come, sport and frolic free with me, In spite of age, and prudish pride; The laws of love all should obey, Before December treads on May.