Golden rose the moon of March that
⁠still mild night;
Silver white through purple pierced
⁠the star: points bright,
Not a whisper murmured in the
⁠pines above,
Silence lived like music in a dream
⁠of love.

Thirty years have vanished like the
⁠sunset gleam,
Life and death the shadows falling
⁠on a stream;
Good and ill betrayed us—wrought
⁠us passing pains,
Peace the only perfect gift the soul
⁠attains

Birth has taught us yearning for
⁠Eternal Day;
Births to come will set us far
⁠that Shining Way;
Beauty clothes the pageant, Love
⁠preserves it whole;
All the mighty magic serves the
⁠Sun led soul