Flame beaten to ash by the too-fierce wind of a day;
Flower torn at the roots, ere noon-tide drooping, gray;

Flower of a singing soul, laughing flame of a life —
But the laughter and song, where are they? Lost in that sore wind-strife.

Pray to the souls of men, ere the new day rises in power,
Pray to the souls of men: " Forget not the flame and the flower. "