We, As Old As Two Wars by Henry Treece

We, as old as two wars, here have stood
Beneath the white and sheltering apple-tree,
Listening to the night’s dark violins;
Have paused from time to time
Among the fantasy of wild orchises
To watch the painted birds daub the bright sky
With fugue of feathers in a breathless sweep.

We, old as history now, have even dared
To mimic God, fly as the angels fly,
Forgetting we were moment’s minions,
That bone would break to lime
And brightness yearly fade from eager eyes.
Perhaps we forgot too soon mortality,
Man’s fragile virtue and the way to weep.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=24888

Date: 1947

By: Henry Treece (1911-1966)