I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
There is a certain symmetry in using the phrase “beautiful thing” twice, and without a comma to separate the two ideas. It is also worth noting that each stanza is a full sentence, making this the only single-line sentence/stanza in this whole poem. This suggests that this is the only thought the speaker is fully sure of, before the description he paints in the next lines spiral out of control [in form]. 
 
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 This poem tackles the main topic of this poem immediately, unlike  other poems  of the same theme that give away the theme mid-way or in the very end.
Autumn Movement