III
Mindfulof you the sodden earth in springAnd all the flowers that in the springtime grow,And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slowRising of the round moon, all throats that singThe 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 feetUp paths that only mist and morning knew,Or watch the wind, or listen to the beatOf a bird’s wings too high in air to view,—But you were something more than young and sweetAnd fair,—and the long year remembers you.
Mindfulof you the sodden earth in springAnd all the flowers that in the springtime grow,And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slowRising of the round moon, all throats that singThe 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 feetUp paths that only mist and morning knew,Or watch the wind, or listen to the beatOf a bird’s wings too high in air to view,—But you were something more than young and sweetAnd fair,—and the long year remembers you.
Mindfulof you the sodden earth in springAnd all the flowers that in the springtime grow,And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slowRising of the round moon, all throats that singThe 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 feetUp paths that only mist and morning knew,Or watch the wind, or listen to the beatOf a bird’s wings too high in air to view,—But you were something more than young and sweetAnd fair,—and the long year remembers you.