Roses and butterflies snared on a fan, All that is left of summer gone by; Of swift, bright wings that flashed in the sun, And loveliest blossoms that bloomed to die! By what subtle spell did you lure them here, Fixing a beauty that will not change,-- Roses whose petals never will fall, Bright, swift wings that never will range? Had you owned but the skill to snare as well The swift-winged hours that came and went, To prison the words that in music died, And fix with a spell the heart's content, Then had you been of magicians the chief; And loved and lovers should bless your art, If you could but have painted the soul of the thing,-- Not the rose alone, but the rose's heart! Flown are those days with their winged delights, As the odor is gone from the summer rose; Yet still, whenever I wave my fan, The soft, south wind of memory blows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HILL WIFE: LONELINESS by ROBERT FROST THE SONG OF THE SHIRT by THOMAS HOOD COLUMBUS [JANUARY, 1487] by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY SONGS OF TRAVEL: 46. EVENSONG by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE ASSUMPTION by JOHN BEAUMONT SEVEN HONEST MEN by MARTIN BENSON HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 32 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |