When I think of fall, I can't help but think of this poem I read while a young Lower at Phillips Andover Academy...
- Márgarét, áre you grieving
- Over Goldengrove unleaving?
- Leáves líke the things of man, you
- With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
- Ah! ás the heart grows older
- It will come to such sights colder
- By and by, nor spare a sigh
- Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
- And yet you will weep and know why.
- Now no matter, child, the name:
- Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
- Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
- What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
- It is the blight man was born for,
- It is Margaret you mourn for.
2 comments:
I love ya, Yash-pal.
What a wonderful poem that is. My mom used to read it to me when I was young, and then my boss quoted it to me at my interview! Guess there aren't too many poems about Margarets.
In any case, cyclocross season, like life, is fleeting.
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