Very old are the woods; <br />And the buds that break <br />Out of the brier's boughs, <br />When March winds wake, <br />So old with their beauty are-- <br />Oh, no man knows <br />Through what wild centuries <br />Roves back the rose. <br />Very old are the brooks; <br />And the rills that rise <br />Where snow sleeps cold beneath <br />The azure skies <br />Sing such a history <br />Of come and gone, <br />Their every drop is as wise <br />As Solomon. <br /> <br />Very old are we men; <br />Our dreams are tales <br />Told in dim Eden <br />By Eve's nightingales; <br />We wake and whisper awhile, <br />But, the day gone by, <br />Silence and sleep like fields <br />Of amaranth lie.<br /><br />Walter de la Mare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-that-s-past/
