THOUGH NOTHING CAN BRING BACK THE HOUR OF SPLENDOUR IN THE GRASS, OF GLORY IN THE FLOWER
Morning comes with downpour of dazzling dew
That sits on leaves of grass, petals of the flower
And with splendour and glory stains them anew.
Beauty of Eternal image shrinks into finite Hour.
The cruel ray of Sun quivers the grass, the leaves
And the dews suddenly vaporize and flutter away
Like the scattered flying bees of broken beehives.
The parting dew yields to dreary mechanical day.
Though nothing, nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower
Yet tomorrow Dew will return with the downpour
Of splendours and glories of the heavenly power.