To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose, <br />Scentless, colourless, this! <br />Will it ever be thus (who knows?) <br />Thus with our bliss, <br />If we wait till the close? <br /> <br /> <br />Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end <br />Sooner, later, at last, <br />Which nothing can mar, nothing mend: <br />An end locked fast, <br />Bent we cannot re-bend.<br /><br />Christina Georgina Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-is-ended/
