Joseph Andrew Galahad

I AM sad for the beauty that is dead:

For the sunset that I saw tonight

As I walked on a hill.

For the tangle of clouds in the light

Where the rim of the sun was showing still.

For the breath of a lily slim and pale

That I brought from the forest yesterday.

For the song of a lark on an old fence rail;

For a ground-wren’s nest in the last year’s hay.

For three slim dogwoods on a mountain-side,

Like ghost trees whitely nodding at the grass;

For a field of buttercups upon a river bank—

For a jaybird jeering shrilly as we pass.

For a wild rose by an alder tree—

For a ginger bloom more fragrant than the rose.

For a swallow sailing by with sapphire wings

Where a waterlily in the shallows grows.

For all the things that are passing and are fair;

For the shortness of the hour that gave them birth.

For the paucity of human hearts that care;

For all the things that are only of the earth.

I am sad for the beauty that is dead.