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ALL THAT'S PAST by Walter de la Mare

by Walter de la Mare

Very old are the woods;
    And the buds that break
  Out of the briar's boughs,
    When March winds wake,
  So old with their beauty are—
    Oh, no man knows
  Through what wild centuries
    Roves back the rose.
  Very old are the brooks;
    And the rills that rise
  Where snow sleeps cold beneath
    The azure skies
  Sing such a history
    Of come and gone,
  Their every drop is as wise
    As Solomon.
  Very old are we men;
    Our dreams are tales
  Told in dim Eden
    By Eve's nightingales;

  We wake and whisper awhile,
    But, the day gone by,
  Silence and sleep like fields
    Of amaranth lie.