What Bloom, Then, Shall Abide?

 Aftermath
by Willa Cather 

 Canst thou conjure a vanished morn of spring,
 Or bid the ashes of the sunset glow
 Again to redness? Are we strong to wring
 From trodden grapes the juice drunk long ago?
Can leafy longings stir in autumn's blood,
 Or can I wear a pearl dissolved in wine,
Or go a-Maying in a winter wood,
 Or paint with youth thy wasted cheek, or mine?
What bloom, then, shall abide, since ours hath sped?
 Thou art more lost to me than they who dwell
 In Egypt's sepulchres, long ages fled;
 And would I touch -- Ah me! I might as well
 Covet the gold of Helen's vanished head,
 Or kiss back Cleopatra from the dead!