I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts. The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds. The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE POOR-HOUSE by SARA TEASDALE THE SPANISH FRIAR: 1-3. LOVE'S DESPAIR by JOHN DRYDEN GRENADIER by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE SPIRIT OF NATURE by RICHARD REALF IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 27 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE BAREFOOT BOY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER INVOCATION TO SLEEP by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |