Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/The Dead Book
THE DEAD BOOK.
Ah, from the yellow pages Time has torn The wonder-pictures seen by clearer eyes,And from the withered words the soul is worn! . . . Kiss the Dead Book, and leave it where it lies.
Kiss the Dead Book, and leave it in its place——— Youth's breathless bloom and dusty dreams among.I read, where shining poems show no grace, This dreary line, "You are no longer young."