Later poems by John B. Tabb | ||
73
IN AUTUMN
Now that the birds are gone
That sang the summer through,
And now that, one by one,
The leaves are going too,
Is all their beauty but a show
To fade for ever when they go?
That sang the summer through,
And now that, one by one,
The leaves are going too,
Is all their beauty but a show
To fade for ever when they go?
Nay; what is heard and seen,
In time must pass away;
But Beauty, born within,—
The blossom of a day—
Unto its hiding place again
Returns for ever to remain.
In time must pass away;
But Beauty, born within,—
The blossom of a day—
Unto its hiding place again
Returns for ever to remain.
Later poems by John B. Tabb | ||