All That`s Past


        Very old are the woods;
            And the buds that break
            Out of the brier's boughs
            When March winds wake,
            So old with their beauty are -
            Oh, no man knows
            Through what wild centuries
            Roves back the rose.

            Very old are the brooks;
            And the rills that rise
            Where snow sleeps cold beneath
            The azure skies
            Sing such a history
            Of come and gone,
            Their every drop is as wise
            As Solomon.

            Very old are we men;
            Our dreams are tales
            Told in dim Eden
            By Eve's nightingales;
            We wake and whisper awhile,
            But, the day gone by,
            Silence and sleep like fields
            Of amaranth lie.