Classic Poem

We do not know how much we love,
Until we come to leave;
An aged tree, a common flower,
Are things o'er which we grieve,
There is a pleasure in the pain
That brings us back the past again.

We linger while we turn away,
We cling while we depart;
And memories, unmarked till then,
Come crowding on the heart.
Let what will lure our onward way,
Farewell's a bitter word to say.