by Arthur W. Peach (December 1913)
Can you remember
In December
How sweet the roses were in June,
Or, in recalling,
Hear, enthralling,
As of old some long loved tune?
Time takes forever
And gives back never
From vales of silence in the past;
Some moments clearer,
Seldom dearer,
Alone she keeps and makes them last.
Some friendships olden,
Love hour golden----
These she holds, but others die;
And when we wonder,
' Tis to ponder
Why others loved must pass us by.
Such is the measure
Of time's pleassure,
To take, and why we never know;
Vain is our seeking
Or bespeaking---
Too far the Land of Long Ago!
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