by T. S. Eliot
When we came home across the hill
No leaves were fallen from the trees;
The gentle fingers of the breeze
Had torn no quivering cobweb down.
The hedgerow bloomed with flowers still,
No withered petals lay beneath;
But the wild roses in your wreath
Were faded, and the leaves were brown.
“Song” was published in Vol. 83, No. 6, of The Harvard Advocate on May 24, 1907.