Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/Evanescence

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EVANESCENCE
Slowly I pass among the blowing flowersCatching my breath at their beauty as I go;Familiar sweetness drifts across the hours,Keen, lovely sweetness intimate as woe.Yet by tomorrow, all the roses blownWill be a sea of crimson on the grass,And the naked trees will shudder at the moanOf glowing winds that wake them as they pass.In such wise love will vanish as the night;Each word of joy that you have sung to meThe years will silence with their dark delightAnd the wild soaring after ecstasyWill be a lyric bird that dares the skyOnly to fall to earth when storms beat by.
The PaganHarold Vinal

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