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 awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
—-W.B. Yeats, The White Birds

Foam on a small fountain,
Street Corner,
Arts District
Dallas, Texas