ALL THAT'S PAST

Walter de la Mare 1873-1958

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. 

-o0o-