Margaret, are you grieving
Over goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! As the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie

And yet you will weep and know why
Now no matter, child, the name
Sorrow's springs are the same

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed
It is the blight man was born for
It is margaret you mourn for