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.