Regret For The Passing Of The Entire Scheme Of Things

Now in the midst of Summer stay the mind
Whilst flowers hold their stony faces- up
And fishes peer through crystal vacancies.

For even in these drowsy hours of ease
Winter's white-armoured horsemen on the hills
Take from the virgin Frost their stirrup-cup.

Whilst now in dusky corners lovers kiss
And goodmen smoke their pipes by tiny gates . . .
These oldest griefs of Summer seem less sad

Than drone of mowers on suburban lawns
And girls' thin laughter, to the ears that hear
The soft rain falling of the failing stars.