Day after day it watches—hour on hour —
Love weeping by the grave of what it loved,
More like a mortal than a simple flower.
And day by day it pales and wanes away
Until it lays its form along the stream,
And slowly sinks to silence and decay.
. . . . . . .
There is a legend told in classic Greece —
A myth, so musical of the olden time,
That none who hears can bid the singer “Peace!”