Poems of Narad

No Joy is Lost

Soft as a melting dream the flowers fall
Upon the dew-filled cushion of the grass,
Their life destroyed upon the tempests' squall
All fragrance lost and empty is the glass

Of sky that held this rainbow of delight,
As fade the shades of day when suddenly
Is drawn the velvet curtain of the night.
And yet no joy is lost, there cannot flee

From mind or eye a beauty that has been
Or love that filled the chalice of the heart.
The brown of earth, her dress of vibrant green
Absorbs all change, a thaumaturgist's art,

And we who suffer, laugh upon her breast
Partake of her renewal and her rest.