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THE UNFADING BLOOM
Life is still Life: not yet the hearth is cold,Not yet the wizard lamp is dimmed at all.
Yon maiden's tresses that about her fall
As Helena's are lovely to behold.
With hoofs of glory and with manes of gold,
Morn on the mountains is majestical;
And in his domed and galleried audience-hall
Night hangs his glittering armour as of old.
Still lives the lyre; still on the minstrel's lip
The ancient griefs, the ancient loves, are new.
Still in the moonrise doth the limner dip
His pencil, in the rainbow and the dew.
And still high hearts in noble fellowship
Suffer, and tried by fire are proven true.
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