Winds, birds, and glittering leaves that flare and fall—
They fling delight across the world; they call
To rhythmic-flashing limbs that rove and race…
A moment in the dawn for Youth’s lit face;
A moment’s passion, closing on the cry—
‘O Beauty, born of lovely things that die!’

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *