Chapter 29

And weep not, though the Beautiful decay Within thy heart, as daily in thine eyes; Thy heart must have its autumn, its pale skies, Leading, mayhap, to winter's dim dismay. Yet doubt not. Beauty doth not pass away; Her form departs not, though her body dies. Secure beneath the earth the snowdrop lies, Waiting the spring's young resurrection-day, Through the kind nurture of the winter cold. Nor seek thou by vain effort to revive The summer-time, when roses were alive; Do thou thy work--be willing to be old: Thy sorrow is the husk that doth infold A gorgeous June, for which thou need'st not strive.

Time: _Five years later_.