Days And Days

The days that clothed white limbs with heat, And rocked the red rose on their breast, Have passed with amber-sandaled feet, Into the ruby-gated west. These were the days that filled the heart With overflowing riches of Life; in whose soul no dream shall start But hath its origin in love. Now come the days gray-huddled in The haze; whose foggy footsteps drip; Who pin beneath a gypsy chin The frosty marigold and hip.— The days, whose forms fall shadowy Athwart the heart; whose misty breath Shapes saddest sweets of memory Out of the bitterness of death.