Virtue

Virtue
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,The bridal of the earth and sky:The dew shall weep they fall tonight;For thou must die.Sweet rose, whose hue angry and braveBids the rash gazer wipe his eye:They root is ever in its grave,And thou must die.Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,A box where sweets compacted lie;My music shows ye have your closes,And all must die.Only a sweet and virtuous soul,Like seasoned timber, never gives;But though the whole world turn to coal,Then chiefly lives.