BRONZE
Change; the rains pass, the daffodils decay,
May's thorn is withered soon,
And summer's rose
Follows the morning of a summer's day,
And with the moon
The sky pales, the wet wind blows,
And summer's gone.
Change; and nothing changes.
There is no space
To seize the shifting fashion and cry Now.
Always the shadow ranges,
Always the hour estranges,
Always to-morrow's morrow's at the brow.
Only our hearts,
Only our hearts that hold to loveliness
With hot undoubting—where the swallow darts
[ 68 ]
