Sonnets and Songs - Helen Hay Whitney - Bog

As a blown leaf across the face of Time Your name falls emptily upon my heart. In this new symmetry you have no part, No lot in my fair life. The stars still chime Autumn and Spring in ceaseless pantomime. I play with Beauty, which is kin to Art, Forgetting Nature. Nor do pulses start To hear your soul remembered in a rhyme.