The Shadow on the Flower

“ I regard death as nothing but the passing of the shadow on the flower.” — T. B. ALDRICH

WHEN those who have loved Power depart
From out a world of toil and stress,
Somewhere, is easing of the heart.
Somewhere, a load grows less.
When those who have loved Beauty die,
Who with her praise the world did bless,
Around the earth there runs a sigh
Of tender loneliness.
Thou, latest-silenced of her choir !
Hark to that long, long sigh, to-day:
The sunlight is a faded fire,
Since thou art gone away !
Since thou art gone — where none may find —
Where Beauty knows no wavering hour,
Where is no blighting from the wind,
No Shadow on the Flower.
Thy mystic, floating, farewell word —
Oh, was it breathed in antiphon
To vatic strains thy spirit heard
From all thy brothers gone !