Spring and 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 wíll weep & know why.
 
Now no matter, child, the name: 
Sorrow's springs are the same.
 
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed 
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed: 
It is the blight man was born for, 
It is Margaret you mourn for.

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