Duncan Campbell Scott (1862–1947)

THE SUNSET in the rosy west

Burned soft and high;

A shore-lark fell like a stone to his nest

In the waving rye.

A wind came over the garden beds

From the dreamy lawn,

The pansies nodded their purple heads,

The poppies began to yawn.

One pansy said, ‘It is only sleep,

Only his gentle breath;’

But a rose lay strewn in a snowy heap,

For the rose it was only death.

Heigho! we’ve only one life to live,

And only one death to die:

Good-morrow, new world! have you nothing to give?

Good-bye, old world—good-bye!