Classic Poem

Now to reach thee I am stooping,
But in happier days of old
I looked upward to thy drooping
Amaranth and gold.

Oh, that Time would never wean us
From the dream that passeth by,
While the daisy hangs between us
And the summer sky.

Oh, the faith of Infant fingers!
Oh, the passing sun and shower!
Oh, the breathless dream that lingers
With thy waning flower.

Then thy bending head beseeching
Pressed thy gold against my lips,
Now thy petals scarcely reaching
Touch my finger tips.

Have I grown indeed above thee?
Lowly I shall bend again,
With a sadder love I love thee,
Better now than then.

Thou hast bloomed, but I have sorrowed,
While the changeful years have flown;
Thou from life's sad heart hast borrowed
Beauty not thy own.

What of fate dost thou betoken?
Child of sunshine, child of God,
Dost thou know of rest unbroken
Deep beneath the sod?

Not as in my childhood's hour,
In the sun-warm grasses sweet,
Not beneath thy dreaming flower,
But beneath thy feet.

When the fabled thread is ended,
When the idle tale is told,
Let me rest beneath thy bended
Amaranth and gold.