Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

For these red lips with all their mournful pride

Mournful that no new wonder may betide

Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam

And Usna’s children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:

Amid men’s souls that waver and give place

Like the pale waters in their wintry race

Under the passing stars foam of the sky

Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down archangels in your dim abode:

Before you were or any hearts to beat

Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;

He made the world to be a grassy road

Before her wandering feet.