Candle-Light

Frail golden flowers that perish at a breath, Flickering points of honey-coloured flame, From sunset gardens of the moon you came, Pale flowers of passion . . . delicate flowers of death . . . Blossoms of opal fire that raised on high Upon a hundred silver stems are seen Above the brilliant dance, or set between The brimming wine-cups . . . flowers of revelry! Roses with amber petals that arise Out of the purple darkness of the night To deck the darkened house of Love, to light The laughing lips, the beautiful glad eyes. Lilies with violet-coloured hearts that break In shining clusters round the silent dead, A diadem of stars at feet and head, The glory dazzles . . . but they do not wake . . . O golden flowers the moon goes gathering In magic gardens of her fairy-land, While splendid angels of the sunset stand Watching in flaming circles wing to wing . . . Frail golden flowers that perish at a breath, That wither in the hands of light, and die When bright dawn wakens in a silver sky. Pale flowers of passion . . . delicate flowers of death.