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The Rose of the World
| Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? | | For these red lips, with all their mournful pride, | | Mournful
that no new wonder may betide, | | Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam, | | And Usna’s children died. | | | | | | We and the labouring world are passing by: | | Amid men’s souls, that waver and give place | | Like the pale
waters in their wintry race, | | Under the passing stars, foam of the sky, | | Lives on this lonely face. | | | | | | Bow
down, archangels, in your dim abode: | | Before you were, or any hearts to beat, | | Weary and kind one lingered
by His seat; | | He made the world to be a grassy road | | Before her wandering feet. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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