Poetry
Sic Transit Gloria
NOT when the swallow, with her Quaker sweetness And undulating flight, Prophesies summer's mellowing completeness And the pure joy of light, But when her twittering brood grown lusty And swift on pointed wings Has breasted the September air turned gusty With threat of sterner things, • Then comes the aching thought of ultimate losing What youth and, Spring_ made dear, Sorrow of parting, loss not of our choosing, The clanging knell of fear ; Then would I follow through the Autumn hazes To some pacific bourne, Where the mimosa bloom's, with sun-flecked daisies And shrill winds do not minim ; But for the vision, slow—how slow—advancing, A yellow daffodil, Brown catkins in the greening copses dancing, And a thrush's trill. M. I. E. Domim.
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