31
       
       _Spring and Fall:_
       
       _to a young child_
       
       MÁRGARÉT, áre you gríeving
       Over Goldengrove unleaving?
       Leáves, líke the things of man, you
       With you fresh thoughts care for, can you?
       Áh! ás the heart grows older
       It will come to such sights colder
       By and by, nor spare a sigh
       Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
       And yet you wíll weep and know why.
       Now no matter, child, the name:
       Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
       Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
       What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
       It ís the blight man was born for,
       It is Margaret you mourn for.