  Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose, Withers once more the old blue flower of day: There where the ether like a diamond glows Its petals fade away. A shadowy tumult stirs the dusky air; Sparkle the delicate dews, the distant snows; The great deep thrills for through it everywhere The breath of Beauty blows. Moulded to her by deep and deeper breath, Neared to the hour when Beauty breathes her last And knows herself in death. A.E. |
|
