Beach plums hang ripe; the splendid Fall has come:
Our strange dune-summer is forever past;
The gorgeous leaves accept the dying year,
Ready to let go with the next light blastâ?¦
The summer's glad to go, for it has filled
Its orb of beauty and would not remain
Dawdling without its flowers, recreant-willed,
To note its pale, inevitable wane.â?¦

Ere we, too, go apart to unseen things
Let us make this last passion in the dunes
Splendid with madness of unnumbered moons,
A storm of eagles on a thousand wingsâ?¦

Let this hour flood, the fullest, to the Past:
The best thing be — the kiss that happened last!
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