Of the old cliff overcome and overgrown
That all that flowerage clothed as flesh clothes bone,
⁠That garment of acacias made for May,
Whereof here lies one witness overblown.

The fair brave trees with all their flowers at play,
How king-like they stood up into the day!
⁠How sweet the day was with them, and the night!
Such words of message have dead flowers to say.

This that the winter and the wind made bright,
And this that lived upon Italian light,
⁠Before I throw them and these words away,
Who knows but I what memories too take flight?