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!”