We two, when we were very small,
Walked hand in hand down avenues
Studded with poplars and long views
Of granite pavement, pale and tall
Sun-sprinkled shops, apartments set
Above them on whose balconies
Perched men like birds among the trees,
Eyeing our youth with vague regret—
How could we know, young as we were,
The brevity of these our strolls,
How every hour more swiftly tolls
Than the preceding? To be sure,
The marvel of our living lies
In sensing little of the thought
That what short summertime we’ve got
Measures in spans like butterflies’,
And realizing late in age
On balconies, as children pass,
Our tenure’s brief as leaves, as grass,
As words washed from the novel’s page
By tears dropped silently, this truth
Too hard to tell to little ones
Passing in hand-held joy, the sun’s
Brief rays alighting on their youth.
Art-Colored Glasses 