Gray is the sea, and the skies are gray; <br />They are ghosts of our blue, bright yesterday; <br />And gray are the breasts of the gulls that scream <br />Like tortured souls in an evil dream. <br /> <br />There is white on the wings of the sea and sky, <br />And white are the gulls' wings wheeling by, <br />And white, like snow, is the pall that lies <br />Where love weeps over his memories. <br /> <br />For the dead is dead, and its shroud is wrought <br />Of good unfound and of wrong unsought; <br />Yet from God's good magic there ever springs <br />The resurrection of holy things. <br /> <br />See--the gold and blue of our yesterday <br />In the eyes and the hair of a child at play; <br />And the spell of joy that our youth beguiled <br />Is woven anew in the laugh of the child.<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-magic/
