THEY sing their dearest songs - He, she, all of them - yea, Treble and tenor and bass, And one to play; With the candles mooning each face.... Ah, no; the years O! How the sick leaves reel down in throngs! They clear the creeping moss - Elders and juniors - aye, Making the pathways neat And the garden gay; And they build a shady seat.... Ah, no; the years, the years; See, the white storm-birds wing across! They are blithely breakfasting all - Men and maidens - yea, Under the summer tree, With a glimpse of the bay, While pet fowl come to the knee.... Ah, no; the years O! And the rotten rose is ript from the wall. They change to a high new house, He, she, all of them - aye, Clocks and carpets and chairs On the lawn all day, And brightest things that are theirs.... Ah, no; the years, the years; Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A COPY OF OMAR KHAYYAM by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AT BAY RIDGE, LONG ISLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE PHOENIX REBORN FROM ITS ASHES by LOUIS ARAGON SONNET: 15 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE LAST MAN: KISSES by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |