MARGARET, are you grieving | |
Over Goldengrove unleaving? | |
Leaves, like the things of man, you | |
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? | |
Ah! as the heart grows older |
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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: |
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Sorrow’s springs are 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.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins, Spring and Fall to a young child
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