Brother, that breathe the August air <br />Ten thousand years from now, <br />And smell—if still your orchards bear <br />Tart apples on the bough— <br /> <br />The early windfall under the tree, <br />And see the red fruit shine, <br />I cannot think your thoughts will be <br />Much different from mine. <br /> <br />Should at that moment the full moon <br />Step forth upon the hill, <br />And memories hard to bear at noon, <br />By moonlight harder still, <br />Form in the shadow of the trees, — <br />Things that you could not spare <br />And live, or so you thought, yet these <br />All gone, and you still there, <br /> <br />A man no longer what he was, <br />Nor yet the thing he'd planned, <br />The chilly apple from the grass <br />Warmed by your living hand— <br /> <br />I think you will have need of tears; <br />I think they will not flow; <br />Supposing in ten thousand years <br />Men ache, as they do now.<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent Millay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-still-your-orchards-bear/
