Fair and Brief

So fair, that all the morning aches With such monotony! So brief, that sadness breaks The brittle spell.

Nothing so fair, nothing so brief: The sun leaps up and falls. The wind tosses every leaf: Every leaf dies.

Blossom, a white cloud in the air, Is blown like a cloud away. Must all be brief, being fair? Nothing remain?

Yes, night and that high regiment Of stars that wheel and march, Ever their bright lines bent To a secret thought;

Moving immutable, bright and grave, Fair beyond all things fair; Though all else vanish, save Imagination's dream.