The Briar Rose

Youth, with an arrogant air,     Passes me by:     Age, on his tottering staff,     Stops with a sigh.     "Here is a flower, "he says,     "I knew when young:     It keeps its oldtime place     The woods among.     "Fresh and fragrant as when     I was a boy;     Still is it young as then,     And full of joy.     "Years have not changed it, no;     In leaf and bloom     It keeps the selfsame glow,     And the same perfume.     "Time, that has grayed my hair,     And bowed my form,     Retains it young and fair     And full of charm.     "The root from which it grows     Is firm and fit,     And every year bestows     New strength on it.     "Not so with me. The years     Have changed me much;     And care and pain and tears     Have left their touch.     "It keeps a sturdy stock,     And blooms the same,     Beside the selfsame rock     Where I carved my name.     "My name? I do not know     It is my own.     'T was carved so long ago,     'T is moss-o'ergrown."     (He stoops beside the flower.     He feels its need.     And for a thoughtful hour     He gives it heed.     (It beggars him, it seems,     In heart and mind,     Of memories and dreams     Of days once kind.)     "It gives and I must take     Thoughts sweet with pain;     And feel again the ache     Of the all-in-vain.     "If it could understand     All it implies     Of loss to me who planned     In life's emprise,     "It would not look so fair,     Nor flaunt its youth,     But strip its branches bare,     And die of ruth.     "Ah me! days come and go;     And I am old     This wild rose tells me so,     As none has told.     "Had it not played a part     In a love long past,     It would not break my heart     With loss at last."