James Russell Lowell

“ Wake the sear leaves to sigh for gladness gone,
Whispering hoarse presage of oblivion, —
Hear, restless as the seas,
Time's grim feet rustling through the withered grace
Of many a spreading realm and strongstemmed race,
Even as my own through these.
Why make we moan
For loss that doth enrich us yet
With upward yearnings of regret? ”