Your dear desired grace, br Your hands, your lips of red, br The wonder of your perfect face br Will fade, like sweet rose-petals shed, br When you are dead. br br Your beautiful hair br Dust in the dust will lie - br But not the light I worship there, br The gold the sunshine crowns you by - br This will not die. br br Your beautiful eyes br Will be closed up with clay; br But all the magic they comprise, br The hopes, the dreams, the ecstasies br Pass not away. br br All I desire and see br Will be a carrion thing; br But all that you have been to me br Is, and can never cease to be.