Classic Poem

Memorial of my former days!
Magnolia, as I scent thy breath,
And on thy pallid beauty gaze,
I feel not far from death.

So much hath happened! and so much
The tomb hath claimed of what was mine!
Thy fragrance moves me with a touch
As from a hand divine:

So many dead! so many wed!
Since first by this Magnolia's tree,
I pressed a gentle hand, and said
A word no more for me!

Lady, who sendest from the South
This frail, pale token of the past,
I press the petals to my mouth,
And sigh—as 't were my last.

Oh, love, we live, but many fell!
The world's a wreck, but we survive!
Say, rather, still on earth we dwell,
But gray at thirty-five!