Dawn and twilight, the noonday sun,
The rolling plains, sky and the sea,
None have lost their old-time mystery,
Events pass away, beauty survives.
LXXV.
Let us wrest beauty from all there is,
Each and all in their own poor way,
And blithely onward life will flow,
Rare like a long-drawn summer’s eve,
And we’ll hail and bless each moment