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!