Classic Poem

The darling momentary beads of prime
The elfin gift of unobserved fingers,
There's not a gem of all the crown that lingers
After the golden clock has beamed their time.

Because the mortal stuff which for a season
Apprized the eye of present loveliness
And fired the heart to wonder and to bless,
By Time decayed, though Time deplore his treason,

From loveliness divorces life asunder,
And puts for love and wonder in the breast
The piteous changeling memory to rest
(O cold moon-mirror of the sun gone under!);

Doubt not the Master Craftsman has the mould
In keeping till the nobler metal flow,
The while his furnace burning clear and slow
Perfects the thrice-refining of the gold.