Amy Lowell (
1874-
1925)
from
A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass (
1912)
Life is a stream
On which we strew
Petal by petal the
flower of our
heart;
The end lost in
dream,
They float past our view,
We only watch their glad, early start.
Freighted with
hope,
Crimsoned with
joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening
rose;
Their widening scope,
Their distant employ,
We never shall know. And the stream as it flows
Sweeps them away,
Each one is gone
Ever beyond into
infinite ways.
We alone stay
While years hurry on,
The flower fared forth, though its
fragrance still stays.