Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her first leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
In honor of our--delayed!--Spring and Poetry Month, which I thought was March...but their website says it's April.
All the better--we have more than another month to leaf through our poetry books and revisit poets, great and minor, who we enjoy.
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