James May

 

Late and Soon

Harold Vinal

 

I AM so near to grief I needs must weep

For little places fair as Camelot,

For dusty inns and gardens long forgot,

They haunt me ever so I cannot sleep.

I am the slave of beauty late and soon,

Of apricots blown into silver rain,

Held close to tears by many a shining lane

Where ghostly birds call wildly to the moon.

Is there at last an ending to it all,

An end of petals blown against my face,

Can I not hide myself behind a wall

And forget beauty for a little space,

Forget all passion that I ever knew--

Old beauty gone and you and you and you ?