1864
THE NEW AND THE OLD
by William Cullen Bryant
Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
THE NEW AND THE OLD
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New are the leaves on the oaken spray,
New the blades of the silky grass;
Flowers, that were buds but yesterday,
Peep from the ground where'er I pass.
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These gay idlers, the butterflies,
Broke, to-day, from their winter shroud;
These light airs, that winnow the skies,
Blow, just born, from the soft, white cloud.
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Gushing fresh in the little streams,
What a prattle the waters make!
Even the sun, with his tender beams,
Seems as young as the flowers they wake.
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Children are wading, with cheerful cries,
In the shoals of the sparkling brook;
Laughing maidens, with soft, young eyes,
Walk or sit in the shady nook.
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What am I doing, thus alone,
In the glory of Nature here,
Silver-haired, like a snow-flake thrown
On the greens of the springing year?
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Only for brows unploughed by care,
Eyes that glisten with hope and mirth,
Cheeks unwrinkled, and unblanched hair,
Shines this holiday of the earth.
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Under the grass, with the clammy clay,
Lie in darkness the last year's flowers,
Born of a light that has passed away,
Dews long dried and forgotten showers.
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"Under the grass is the fitting home,"
So they whisper, "for such as thou,
When the winter of life is come,
Chilling the blood, and frosting the brow."
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THE END
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