Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/69

 And she who brought them, being Fate, Made roses do the work of spears,— Though many made no more of her Than civet, coral, rouge, and years. You ask us what Llewellyn saw, But why ask what may not be given? To some will come a time when change Itself is beauty, if not heaven. One afternoon Priscilla spoke, And her shrill history was done; At any 'rate, she never spoke Like that again to anyone. One gold October afternoon Great fury smote the silent air; And then Llewellyn leapt and fled Like one with hornets in his hair. Llewellyn left us, and he said Forever, leaving few to doubt him; And so, through frost and clicking leaves, The Tilbury way went on without him. And slowly, through the Tilbury mist, The stillness of October gold Went out like beauty from a face. Priscilla watched it, and grew old. He fled, still clutching in his flight The roses that had been his fall; The Scarlet One, as you surmise, Fled with him, coral, rouge, and all.