Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/The Dead Book

by Sarah Piatt

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."