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THEY sing their dearest songs--
He, she, all of them--yea, Treble and tenor and bass. And one to play; With the candles mooning each face.... Ah, no; the years O! How the sick leaves reel down in throngs! They clear the creeping moss-- Elders and juniors--aye, Making the pathways neat And the garden gay; And they build a shady seat.... Ah, no; the years, the years; See, the white storm-birds wing across! They are blithely breakfasting all-- Men and maidens--yea, Under the summer tree, With a glimpse of the bay, While pet fowl come to the knee.... Ah, no; the years O! And the rotten rose is ripped from the wall. They change to a high new house, He, she, all of them--aye, Clocks and carpets and chairs On the lawn all day, And brightest things that are theirs.... Ah, no; the years, the years; Down their carved names the raindrop plows. Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |