Memoriae Praeteritorum

LIKE roses, blooming in the snow,
Rise memories of long ago;
Like fires, from their dead ashes springing;
Like birds, from nests forsaken winging.
Fragrance and light and thrilling song
Charm every sense — but ah, not long!
Silence and frost and ashes claim
Too soon the bird, the flower, the flame.
Swift as they rose they vanish then,
And I am old, am old again.