DURING WIND AND RAIN

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 ript 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 rain-drop ploughs.