FOR BEAUTY LOST
Alas,
Who shall mourn for beauty lost?
For a moment not quick, nor sure
Nor firm enough to be,
A quest for love not begun,
A dream unsung whose stilled voice
Will haunt some lonely chamber of my soul.
Alas,
Who shall mourn for this brief delight?
Passionate in allure but lost upon
Time which moved its swift hand
And wove another scene upon the eternal loom.
Alas, Alas, it is I who mourns.