Classic Poem

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips with all their mournful pride—
Mournful that no new wonder may betide—
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna's children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls that day by day give place,
More fleeting than the sea's foam-fickle face,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode;
Before ye were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one stood beside His seat;
He made the worlds to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.