Grass now and lilies and leaves,
Quickly and beautifully fled
In a time that no one remembers,
Drifts in the wind and weaves
Round the high-hung, mouldering rafter
A wisp of the jests and the laughter
Some one knew in the past;
Breathes and blows on the embers
Of the dying spirit of me.
There is my gauntlet at last,