...i sOMETIMES tHINK tHAT nEVER bLOWS sO rED,
tHE rOSE,
aS wHERE sOME bURIED cAESAR bLED tHAT eVERY hYACINTH,
tHE gARDEN wEARS,
dROPT iN iTS lAP fROM sOME oNCE lOVELY hEAD,
aND tHIS dELIGHTFUL hERB wHOSE tENDER gREEN,
fLENGES tHE rIVER’S lIP oN wHICH wE lEAN,
aH, lEAN uPON iT lIGHTLY,
fOR wHO kNOWS,
fOR wHAT??
oNE lOVRLY lIP,
iT sPRINGS uNSIEN!!
aH, mY bELOVED,
fILL tHE cUP tHAT cLEARS tO dAY oF pAST rEGRET,
aND fUTURE fEARS-tOMORROW???
wHY tOMORROW,
i mAY bE wITH yESTERDAY’S,
sEVEN tHOUSAND yEARS…