I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts. The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds. The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE A POEM AGAINST THE WAR IN VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE by MALCOLM COWLEY WELCOME by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) MY AIN COUNTRIE by MARY LEE DEMAREST BROWNING AT ASOLO by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON TO A CAT by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |