  Silver and misty rose And iris-flushed mother-of-pearl Is the world at the clear day’s close, River and sky and sand: Into a land we sail Soft-hued like the dreams of a girl, Vaguely outlined and bubble-frail— Into a mystic land. Speak, and the vision breaks, Yea, feel but too strongly, it flies From the tumult its beauty wakes Deep in our hearts’ stronghold; We can but stand and gaze, With all our souls’ life in our eyes, As we spin out this day of days Thin to a thread of gold. Life has a flagon tall O’erbrimming with beauty’s clear wine, We only can sip at it all— If we could lay it by, Treasure it, hold it fast, And revel in colour divine When the grey days come past, Then we should never die. That is for gods alone, For beauty has butterfly wings, And we never can make it our own, Bloom unscattered, unless We are as gods, apart— And not one of these wonderful things May I ever set down, though my heart Break in its helplessness. |
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