Now

You tell me not to say ''the last'' Of anything: Of walks, of places, views, But to regard Each time as now, as always. That looking back Denotes no loss, no sadness, When to-morrow's change Will emphasize those yesterdays: The stones we find, The pine-cones with their weather charts, The dried wild marjoram, All stress your bright philosophy - As treeless earth That celebrates the wind.

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