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.

From Valeria and other poems (Chicago : A.C. McClurg & Company, 1892) by Harriet Monroe. This poem is in the public domain.