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Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring, And all the flowers that in the springtime grow; And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow Rising of the round moon; all throats that sing The summer through, and each departing wing, And all the nests that the bared branches show; And all winds that in any weather blow, And all the storms that the four seasons bring. You go no more on your exultant feet Up paths that only mist and morning knew; Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat Of a bird's wings too high in air to view,— But you were something more than young and sweet And fair,—and the long year remembers you. |