MARGARET, are you grieving
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Over Goldengrove unleaving?
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Leaves, like the things of man, you
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With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
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Ah! as the heart grows older
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It will come to such sights colder
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By and by, nor spare a sigh
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Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
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And yet you will weep and know why.
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Now no matter, child, the name:
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Sorrow's springs are the same.
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Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
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What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
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It is the blight man was born for,
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It is Margaret you mourn for.
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Spring And Fall: To A Young Child
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| Natalie Merchant |
