Always more riches, more enjoyment, more
Of everything the world can briefly give,
Though through your avid hands as through a sieve
Beauties unnumbered and unnoticed pour.
You chase the wind, but you are fugitive
From the great quiet at the whirlwind's core,
And spendthrift of life's measurable store
You have not purchased the mere right to live.
There is a vacant seat beside me here
Where you may rest and watch the season change;
Form, colour, tone, mysterious or clear,
In swift variety though never strange,
Where if one beauty wholly be revealed
Life will have yielded all she has to yield.