The flowers of the sun that is sunken
⁠Hang heavy of heart as of head;
The bees that have eaten and drunken
⁠The soul of their sweetness are fled;
But a sunflower of song, on whose honey
⁠My spirit has fed as a bee,
Makes sunnier than morning was sunny
⁠The twilight for me.

The letters and lines on the pages
⁠That sundered mine eyes and the flowers
Wax faint as the shadows of ages
⁠That sunder their season and ours;
As the ghosts of the centuries that sever
⁠A season of colourless time
From the days whose remembrance is ever,
⁠As they were, sublime.

The season that bred and that cherished
⁠The soul that I commune with yet,