Losses
O you there weeping alone so bitterly,
What is it you weep for, paying bitterly
The price in tears and darkened sunless eyes?
Only your youth? — yet always late or soon
Age scatters dust for gold and, late or soon,
Darkens and then calms the desiring eyes.
But I am weeping my age which was so fair.
Nothing, not even death, was quite so fair
Mine was that wisdom in which the seraphs love,
And in my age agelessly I had been
Rose in the cherubs' rose-flame love — have been
A golden mirror for the sun of love!
What is it you weep for, paying bitterly
The price in tears and darkened sunless eyes?
Only your youth? — yet always late or soon
Age scatters dust for gold and, late or soon,
Darkens and then calms the desiring eyes.
But I am weeping my age which was so fair.
Nothing, not even death, was quite so fair
Mine was that wisdom in which the seraphs love,
And in my age agelessly I had been
Rose in the cherubs' rose-flame love — have been
A golden mirror for the sun of love!
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