What Does It Matter?

WHAT does it matter that the time must come
When all my petals shall be blown away,
Leaving a brittle stalk where wild bees hum
And woo the living flowers all the day?
I too have trembled to the kiss they brought,
Was wooed and knew the sunlight and the dew;
I too have trembled to the living thought,
Have bent and swayed the teeming summer through;
These have been mine unto the uttermost,
And peradventure shall be mine again;
When some new shell becomes my spirit’s host,
Life, beautiful as this, shall fill me then,
And strange new thoughts may grace another spring,
Making existence seem a deeper thing.