Spring & Fall

to a young child 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 It will come to such sights colder By |&| by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you w{'i}ll weep |&| know why. Now no matter, child, the name: Sorrow's springs are the same. Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed What h{'e}art h{'e}ard of, gh{'o}st gu{'e}ssed: It is the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for.