No Joy is Lost

Soft as a melting dream the flowers fall

Upon the dew-filled cushion of the grass,

Their life destroyed upon the tempests' squall

All fragrance lost and empty is the glass

Of sky that held this rainbow of delight,

As fade the shades of day when suddenly

Is drawn the velvet curtain of the night.

And yet no joy is lost, there cannot flee

From mind or eye a beauty that has been

Or love that filled the chalice of the heart.

The brown of earth, her dress of vibrant green

Absorbs all change, a thaumaturgist's art,

And we who suffer, laugh upon her breast

Partake of her renewal and her rest.