A MOMENT'S gleam, a hint of sunnier weather, Borne from the storm-clouds and the mists of fate; Dawned, with a tender "Peradventure" hither, A soft "Perchance it is not yet too late!" And so a transient omen magnifying, My soul would fain pass brightened, unto thine; But to my half-formed thought comes truth replying: "No life mounts backward from its wan decline." Would'st thou expect, drear winter, ashen, sober, To burn with blushes of a spring-tide noon? Would'st thou expect the hectic-cheeked October To catch the virginal freshness of young June? All mortal lives like the year's seasons ever Pass from their May dawn and rare summer's bloom, Down to the day when autumn winds dissever Life's latest sheaves to strew them near a tomb. And then death looms, that pitiless grim December. Bringing cold tears, a winding sheet like snow, Last, a carved stone, which bids the world remember One of its countless myriads sleeps below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINDFLOWER LEAF by CARL SANDBURG DOROTHY DANCES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER FIVE TREES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER A SKETCH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TELLING THE BEES by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE MORAL FABLES: THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE HUSBANDMAN by AESOP |