It brings to mine G M Hopkins poem, 'To a young child'.
To a young child
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
I think Hopkins was a melancholy man. In reality little Margaret would be looking forward to Halloween or Guy Fawkes and later Christmas. As the world turns there's always something to look forward to.
I was surprised to find it was the equinox today. Coincidently I was just talking about when Autumn started, yesterday. I never remember no matter how often I look up up the dates.
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