A Wash of rippling breath that just arrives
A wash of rippling breath that just arrives,
Thin yellow tufts shattering and showering down
And, underfoot and all about me blown,
Thin yellow tufts and threads, bunches of fives:
Too curiously I note each lightest thing.
But where are they, my friends whose fair young lives
Gave these dead bowers the freshness of the spring?
Gone! And save tears and memory, all is gone …
Fate robs us not of these nor Death deprives.
But when will Nature here new beauty bring
Or thou behold those faces gathering?
I mark the glimmering moss that yet survives,
I touch the trees, I tread the shedded shives,—
But when will come the new awakening?
Thin yellow tufts shattering and showering down
And, underfoot and all about me blown,
Thin yellow tufts and threads, bunches of fives:
Too curiously I note each lightest thing.
But where are they, my friends whose fair young lives
Gave these dead bowers the freshness of the spring?
Gone! And save tears and memory, all is gone …
Fate robs us not of these nor Death deprives.
But when will Nature here new beauty bring
Or thou behold those faces gathering?
I mark the glimmering moss that yet survives,
I touch the trees, I tread the shedded shives,—
But when will come the new awakening?
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