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Arthur Symons - Wasted Beauty
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This beauty is vain, this, born to be wasted, 
Poured on the ground like water, spilled, and by no man tasted; 
This, born to be loved, unloved shall remain 
Till in white dust the lovely bones whiten again; 
Till, dust in white dust, this high heart shall be still, 
It shall desire and its labour be lost, it shall not have its will; 
You, armies had met, once, if you turned your head: 
Shall there be nothing changed? nothing, when you are dead.
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