Egret in light

I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on

    the foam of the sea!

We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can

   fade and flee;

And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low

   on the rim of the sky,

Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness

   that may not die.

YB Yeats

The White Birds