by Eugene F. Ware

It passed in beauty,
   Like the waves that reach
Their jeweled fingers
   Up the sanded beach.

It passed in beauty,
   Like the flowers that spring
Behind the footsteps
   Of the Winter King.

It passed in beauty,
   Like the clouds on high,
That drape the ceilings
   Of a summer sky.



Selections from Ironquill
(Topeka: Crane & Co. 1899)

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February 23, 1999 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas /

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