I found some lovely bricks today,
Such rusty rose recessed in blue,
Its hard to speak on its array,
Other than full and rightly true,
So fitting for its place in shade,
Upon my sight so happily mislaid.

The sweetness of the harsher light does fall,
Like crystal peals around each mottled edge,
The forethought of the gentle cascade warmth,
Is spent to make the leaves a cloud of jade,
Enrobed with valour and a holy smile,
The world is beautiful and yet asleep,
If this is terror swept decayed and lost,
I cannot entertain when it shall bloom!

How I long to look,
At worlds through sweeter lens,
Find moment in the age,
And whisper on the ends,

For beauty is cruel kept,
Within the memory,
On charge of never death,
It must be seized.