Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/45

 HOU canst not see him standing by — Time — with a poppied hand Stealing thy youth's simplicity, Even as falls unceasingly His waning sand.

He will pluck thy childish roses, as Summer from her bush Strips all the loveliness that was; Even to the silence evening has Thy laughter hush.

Thy locks too faint for earthly gold, The meekness of thine eyes, He will darken and dim, and to his fold Drive, 'gainst the night, thy stainless, old Innocencies;

Thy simple words confuse and mar, Thy tenderest thoughts delude. Draw a long cloud athwart thy star, Still with loud timbrels heaven's far Faint interlude.