Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/75



HERE hast thou gone, my Day?

I meant to follow,

Extracting from thine every hour its sweet;

But thou, beguiling hope with pledges hollow,

Art flown on wingèd feet.

Hardly I greet thy morn,

The glory dwindles;

And as I plan thy moments with delight,

The evening-primrose in my pathway kindles

Her taper for the night.

Ah, too precipitate!

Might I not linger

To gather a stray blossom by the way,

But pointing onward with thy warning finger,

Thou must outstrip me, Day?

Gladly I welcomed thee,

An eager lover

Who deemed he knew each fleeting moment's cost,

Is there no way, no method, to recover

The treasure I have lost?