Fair Hope! our earlier Heaven! by thee Young Time is taster to Eternity. The generous wine with age grows strong, not sour, Nor need we kill thy fruit to smell thy flower. Thy golden head never hangs down Till in the lap of Love's full noon It falls and dies: Oh no, it melts away As doth the dawn into the day, As lumps of sugar lose themselves, and twine Their subtle essence with the soul of wine.