Classic Poem

I WHO love beauty — the ascending grass,
And the mysterious patience of the moon;
An Autumn sunset over a hushed lagoon,
The wonder of a lake that gleams like glass,
And the deep brown of mountains, mass on mass,
In the full moment of a lavish June;
Slow shadows in the melting afternoon —
Too well I know how dreams like these shall pass.

Ah, soon, too soon, the miracle will fade,
And life be done before the apple shakes
Its blossom from the tree; and sad men go
From this wild pageant and this bright parade
With feet reluctant and a heart that aches.
Do greater glories wait us?...None may know.