Most Sweet of All
Most sweet of all the flowers memorial
That autumn tends beneath his wasted trees,
Where wearily the unremembering breeze
Whirls the brown leaves against the blackening wall
More sweet than those that summer fed so tall
And glad with soft wind blowing overseas;
Through all incalculable distances
Of many shades that swerve and sands that crawl,
Most sweet of all!
When comes the fulness of the time to me
As yours is full to-day, O flower of mine?
Touched by her hand who evermore shall be,
While the slow planets circle for a sign,
Till periods flag and constellations fall,
Most sweet of all!
“Love in Idleness.”