The Passing Flower

In Baalbec there were lovers
Who plucked the passing flower;
In Sidon and Palmyra
Each flushed, immortal hour

Was gathered in the passing;
In Greece and Rome they knew
That from the living Present
The whitest blossoms grew.

The countless generations
Like Autumn leaves go by:
Love only is eternal,
Love only does not die. . . .

I hear the dying nations
Go by on phantom feet —
But still the rose is fragrant,
And still a kiss is sweet!
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