Shadows

What is most near?
Ah, sweet dead year-
Thy fallen leaf
And gathered sheaf,
The presence that is fled,
The vows that once were said-
These are most near.

Swift speeds away
Rose-crowned To-day.
So far, so far
Her light feet are!
I look and see thy face
Haunting the upland place,
Dear Yesterday.

The blooming flowers,
The sunny hours-
These cannot rest,
These are half blest.
But thou forevermore
Art mine, love, as of yore,
And time is ours.

Harriet Monroe