I love all beauteous things,
I seek and adore them;
God hath no better praise,
And man in his hasty days
Is honoured for them.
I too will something make
And joy in the making!
Altho' tomorrow it seem'
Like the empty words of a dream
Remembered, on waking.
More verses by Robert Seymour Bridges
- I Have Loved Flowers That Fade
- A Passer-By
- Absence
- Melancholia
- In Autumn Moonlight, When The White Air Wan