FAIR AND BRIEF

So fair, that all the morning aches

With such monotony!

So brief, that sadness breaks

The brittle spell.

Nothing so fair, nothing so brief:

The sun leaps up and falls.

The wind tosses every leaf:

Every leaf dies.

Blossom, a white cloud in the air,

Is blown like a cloud away.

Must all be brief, being fair?

Nothing remain?

Yes, night and that high regiment

Of stars that wheel and march,

Ever their bright lines bent

To a secret thought;

Moving immutable, bright and grave,

Fair beyond all things fair;

Though all else vanish, save

Imagination's dream.