Margaret, are you grieving br Over Goldengrove unleaving? br Leaves, like the things of man, you br With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? br Ah! as the heart grows older br It will come to such sights colder br By and by, nor spare a sigh br Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; br And yet you will weep and know why. br Now no matter, child, the name: br Sorrow's springs are the same. br Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed br What heart heard of, ghost guessed: br It is the blight man was born for, br It is Margaret you mourn for.