Now shall your beauty never fade;
For it was budding when you passed
Beyond this glare, into the shade
Of fairer gardens unforecast,
Where, by the dreaded Gardener’s spade,
Beauty, transplanted once, shall ever last.
Now never shall your glorious breast
Wither, your deft hands lose their art,
Nor those glad shoulders be oppressed
By failing breath or fluttering heart,
Nor from the cheek by dawn possessed,
The subtle ecstasy of hue depart.
Forever shall you be your best —
Nay, far more luminously shine
Than when our comradeship was blessed
By what of earth seemed most divine,
Before your body passed to rest
With what I then supposed this heart of mine.
Now shall your bud of beauty blow
Far lovelier than I dreamed before
When, such a little time ago,
I looked upon your face, and swore
That Helen’s never moved men so
When her white, magic hands enkindled war.
As you sweep on from power to power,
Shall every earthward thought you think
Irradiate my lonely hour,
Until I taste the golden drink
Of Life, and see the full-blown flower
Whose opening bud was mine beyond the brink.