Hours in the Sun

These hours in the sun May not remain. Fleetly time’s ripples run, Nor pass again.

This murmuring of the reeds Above our head— This ecstasy that feeds The rose with red—

The glimmer of the grass Divinely bright, Flicker, and then flame, and pass Into the night.

And your swift heart that leaps To answer mine— Ah, many a lover sleeps And gives no sign

That autumn walks in gold Or sweet spring goes— Earth’s flowing ashes fold Full many a rose!

Red flames that are a flower, To ashes burn; Invert upon the hour Your emptied urn

Of sweets—the sun embrace Ere this day close, Glad for one shining space To be a rose.

And we who neath the sun Draw eager breath— Before black time hath spun His web of death—

Take we life’s ecstasies Though half be pain. The moment singing flies, Nor sings again.

Thorn of bright beauty, press, Close, closer still. Keen edge of loveliness, Kiss, though to kill—

Tear-tempered sword of love, Bite deep, bite deep. For love at last must prove Unwaking sleep.

This radiance fugitive May not return. Red rose of beauty, live! And white flame, burn!