Before this scarf was faded, <br />What hours of mirth it knew; <br />How gayly it paraded <br />From smiling eyes to view. <br />The days were tinged with glory, <br />The nights too quickly sped, <br />And life was like a story <br />Where all the people wed. <br /> <br />Before this rosebud wilted, <br />How passionately sweet <br />The wild waltz smelled and lilted <br />In time for flying feet; <br />How loud the bassoons muttered, <br />The horns grew madly shrill, <br />And oh! the vows lips uttered <br />That hearts could not fulfill. <br /> <br />Before this fan was broken, <br />Behind its lace and pearl <br />What whispered words were spoken, <br />What hearts were in a whirl; <br />What homesteads were selected <br />In Fancy's realm of Spain, <br />What castles were erected <br />Without a room for pain. <br /> <br />When this odd glove was mated, <br />How thrilling seemed the play; <br />Maybe our hearts are sated-- <br />We tire so soon to-day. <br />O, thrust away these treasures, <br />They speak the dreary truth; <br />We have outgrown the pleasures <br />And keen delights of youth.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-an-old-drawer/
