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Henry Van Dyke - Autumn in the GardenHenry Van Dyke - Autumn in the Garden
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When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark            Makes its mark On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves            Over fallen leaves; Then my olden garden, where the golden soil            Through the toil Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,            Whispers in its sleep. `Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,            Where the box Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,            There`s a voice that talks Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here            Year by year,— Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,            Fading as the flowers. Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;            But relief For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow            From the Long-Ago, When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,            To resign, And remember that the sadness of the fall            Comes alike to all. What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!            And what prayers For the silent strength that nerves us to endure            Things we cannot cure! Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,            I have traced All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find            Comfort in my mind. Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:            Yet how near Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,            Of the human race! Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,            Not apart! They who know the sorrows other lives have known            Never walk alone.
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