THIS SCENERY
I bask'd as the waning twilight gleams
Under the homey shade of trees;
I breathed the ebbing ghost of dreams
In the elixir of air, a peek through the seams
Of cruel thoughts, and cruel thoughts that cease.
Savor'd I the transitory flame
That crackled into death, into the shade,
And to part would be to me some shame
To union with love not chance to claim
And leaving simply watch it fade.
I suffused myself with the soulful air,
And saddened by that all should come to naught,
Why not leave this scen'ry thriving there
The mem'ries of each passing dusk to bear. . .
And hold the pasts that weep unsought.
But when joins this dusk the sleep of Past,
Not all would e'ermore rest forgot;
And while the scene breaks at longest last
And turns to night, this poorest cast
Would prove this scene was never not.