WE mark the playing-time of sun and rain, <br />Until the rain too heavily upon us <br />Leans, and the sun stamps down upon our lustres, <br />And then our trees stand in their greennesses <br />No different from the privets in the hedges, <br />And we who made a pleasaunce at the door-step, <br />And, whether by the ash-heap or the spring-well <br />Growing, were ever fresh and ever radiant, <br />And fragrant more than grass is <br />We, we are gone without a word that praised us <br />You did not know how short the playing-time!<br /><br />Padraic Colum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lilac-blossoms/
