[TEMPUS EDAX RERUM]
Upon the silence of my unconcern
The little noise that was your name falls dead.
I can remember how your mouth was red,
In the lost years, but tho' the senses yearn
For some unguessed desire, they never turn
To that vitality, your face!—We sped
So swiftly thro' our burning hour. We said
Drink deep, 't will never end; too late we learn
That lovely passion's face so soon is grey,
That notes too often pressed upon grow dumb,
That after the high climax crowns a day
The dusk seems long and empty. We who come
To taste again Life's feast, why must it be
We meet such ghosts to chill our revelry?
[THE COWARD]
Wishful of many honors,
He was too lame to climb,
And so he sat to wait for Death,
Forgetting to be brave.
He never saw the windfalls,
From off the trees of Time,
Drop down in mellow chance to him
The while he digged his grave.
THE ROMANY