Life has a flagon tall
O'erbrimming with beauty's clear wine,
We only can sip at it all—
If we could lay it by,
Treasure it, hold it fast,
And revel in colour divine
When the grey days come past,
Then we should never die.
That is for gods alone,
For beauty has butterfly wings,
And we never can make it our own,
Bloom unscattered, unless
We are as gods, apart—
And not one of these wonderful things
May I ever set down, though my heart
Break in its helplessness.
