A flower, or the ghost of a flower!
Mist, or the soul of it, felt
In the secret night’s mid hour,
Lost on the morning air!
Who shall recover it,–beauty born to melt
As the apparition of blossom brief and shy,
As the cloud in the sky that vanishes, who knows where?
✅ Do you like the article “From The Chinese” by Laurence Binyon on Poemfull.com? If so, don't forget to share this post with your friends and family ♡ !
