Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 06, No. 35, September, 1860 - Various - Страница 8

  Memorial of my former days,

  Magnolia, as I scent thy breath,

  And on thy pallid beauty gaze,

  I feel not far from death!

  So much hath happened! and so much

  The tomb hath claimed of what was mine!

  Thy fragrance moves me with a touch

  As from a hand divine:

  So many dead! so many wed!

  Since first, by this Magnolia's tree,

  I pressed a gentle hand and said,

  A word no more for me!

  Lady, who sendest from the South

  This frail, pale token of the past,

  I press the petals to my mouth,

  And sigh—as 'twere my last.

  Oh, love, we live, but many fell!

  The world's a wreck, but we survive!—

  Say, rather, still on earth we dwell,

  But gray at thirty-five!