I knew they reached the gray horizon’s gleam.
“Look! Look behind!”—I cried—“the cherubs there
Upholding each a wine glass, rich, flower-crowned,
Mirrored within whose radiant deeps is found
My love and I—immortal—earth-gods fair.
The future, stern, stern keepers, take! ’tis thine.
I care not, for that red rose past is mine!”
V
If life and love are garments that grow old
And frayed and soiled as those that beggars wear,