Margaret, are you grieving
over Goldengrove's unleaving?
Leaves, like things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts, care for, can you?
Ah! As the heart grows older
It will come to sights such colder
By & by, nor spake a sigh
Through worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie,
And yet you will weep and not know why.
Now, no matter child, the name:
Sorrow springs are all the same.
Nor mouth had, nor mind expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed.
It is the blight man was born for;
It is Margaret you mourn for.
-G.M. Hopkins
In memory of
Margaret Avison, Canadian poet, beautiful person.
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