Daisy
by Francis Thompson
The fairest things have fleetest end,
Their scent survives their close:
But the rose’s scent is bitterness
To him that loved the rose.
She went her unremembering way,
She went and left in me
The pain of all the partings gone,
And partings yet to be.
She left me marveling why my soul
Was sad that she was glad;
At all the sadness in the sweet,
The sweetness in the sad.
Filed in: Bittersweetness Poetry
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