The line of sunflowers grows, Each golden globe a bright response To every sunbeam she bestows, As day and night tremulously dance, In synchronous haste.

Yet like the dream of life, The season hastens by— For each flower’s full, ripe life, Is complimented soon by sigh.

For the petals curl and fade In soft surrendering grace; Come morn, they’ll lie in woodland shade, To rest against life’s fast-turned face.

But oh! that bright, sweet moment isn’t lost, It rests in soft remembrance of the sun! Thus bloom the memories we hold most dear— Once bright and beautiful, Now only whispers for us to steer.

• Robert Frost