All Of A Piece

ALL of a piece were the sunset light, The rose in the tree, and the golden girl; Beauty, the weaver, 'twas that wove them, Weaving deftly, as Beauty can, Just to capture the eyes of a man, Just to make the heart of him love them, Setting the blood in his veins a-swirl; Ah, the rose, and the girl, its piece-mate! Ah, the sunset of rose and pearl! All of a piece are the faded light, The rose in the mire and the girl grown old; Beauty, the trickster, 'twas that wove them, Weaving deftly, as Beauty can, Just to capture the soul of a man, Just to make the heart of him love them, Then to sicken and grow grave-cold; Fragile wear is the cloth of Beauty — Rose and sunset and girl of gold!