The Urns of Fruit

The urns of fruit

From terra cotta fashioned

Are tranquil - carven on the sunlit wall -

While pale leaves by the autumn wind compelled

Snap the twig's leash;

Lost entities they fall.

They fall as fell

The calendar's spent pages;

To waste and rubble do their outlines tend ;

Themselves enrichers of returning buds

That spring will fashion,

Autumn's edict bend.

While baby turns to child,

And child to man,

The terra cotta urns upon the wall

Have let no pear dissolve, no grape is crushed ;

The golden apples

Stare at golden fall.

Then am I reassured

That Adrian's coin

Outlasts his head ; bless the medallions pure

That yet confront us when the man is dust.

Oh artist

How your handiwork is sure.

THE PALE GARDEN