Fey

O pour not all the measure of delight
Into this one day—it is beautiful
Beyond all dreaming, and so perfectly
Flow the sweet hours, I am afraid—I know
Tears lie behind our gladness—grief stands ready
To stab our laughing, loving hearts—too soon
All this must end—the gods are envious
Evening will come, and gloriously dying
Forewarn us, wake us swiftly to remembrance
With her last chilling breath of wind: and then
The lovely light will fade—and suddenly
We and the world together will grow cold,
Touched with mortality—I am afraid—
This day is beautiful beyond all dreaming:
We cannot, dare not drain its ecstasy.

—M.P.P.