“Short Day and Long Remembrance” II

There is a life outwearing even grief.
Our shining lily, of the sunbeams fain,
Smit by a sudden vehemence of rain
Is dashed to earth with ruined cup and leaf;
But Death, her troubler, holds his mortal fief
Of Love the overlord, whose meads retain
A perfume sweeter for the bruise and stain,
Abiding fragrance of a blossom brief.
Transplanted, be it so, to gardens bright,
Where drooping lilies, sprent with honey-dew,
By angel touches wax more dazzling white
Than eye conceives beneath this baffling blue,
At least remains to us of shadowed sight
Thy folding effluence of fair and true.