TEMPUS EDAX RERUM

Upon the silence of my unconcern

The little noise that was your name falls dead.

I can remember how your mouth was red,

In the lost years, but tho’ the senses yearn

For some unguessed desire, they never turn

To that vitality, your face!— We sped

So swiftly thro’ our burning hour. We said

Drink deep,‘ t will never end; too late we learn

That lovely passion's face so soon is grey,

That notes too often pressed upon grow dumb,

That after the high climax crowns a day

The dusk seems long and empty. We who come

To taste again Life's feast, why must it be

We meet such ghosts to chill our revelry?