  Where go all the melodies fair, They that flow and fade in air? Was their beauty all foredone? (Ah, no—no!) Pulse and cadence truth did tell, Vowed to music’s magic spell, Passionate and ineffable. They that die before the snow? Was their beauty all forsworn? (Ah, no—no!) Flush and odor vowed aright, When they promised rare delight, Perennial and exquisite. Fragile flowers and melodies Claim a dual paradise, Beauty is not feof to death; (Ah, no—no!) Beauty lives in essence free, In the inner heart we see Beauty’s immortality. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED DURING OCTOBER 1898 BY THE UNIVERSITY PRESS CAMBRIDGE MASSACHUSETTS |
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