To Giulia Grisi

A poem by 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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