Eight Harvard Poets/The Withered Leaf, the Faded Flower be Mine

THE WITHERED LEAF, THE FADED FLOWER BE MINE

THE withered leaf, the faded flower be mine,
The broken shrine,
All things that knowing beauty for a day
Have passed away
To dwell in the illimitable wood
Of quietude,
Undying, radiant, young,
Passed years among.

No blighting wind upon their beauty blows,
The altar glows
With flames unquenchable and bright
By day, by night;
Secure from envious time's deflowering breath
They know no death,
But silently, imperishably fair,
Grow lovelier there.

He who adores too much the impending hour,
The budding flower,
Who knows not with what dyes an hour that's dead
Is garmented,

Who walks with glimmering shapes companionless,
He cannot guess
With how great love and thankfulness I praise
The yesterdays.