During Wind And Rain by Thomas Hardy

They sing their dearest songs--

He, she, all of them--yea,

Treble and tenor and bass.

And one to play;

With the candles mooning each face....

Ah, no; the years O!

How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!

They clear the creeping moss--

Elders and juniors--aye,

Making the pathways neat

And the garden gay;

And they build a shady seat....

Ah, no; the years, the years;

See, the white storm-birds wing across!

They are blithely breakfasting all--

Men and maidens--yea,

Under the summer tree,

With a glimpse of the bay,

While pet fowl come to the knee....

Ah, no; the years O!

And the rotten rose is ripped from the wall.

They change to a high new house,

He, she, all of them--aye,

Clocks and carpets and chairs

On the lawn all day,

And brightest things that are theirs....

Ah, no; the years, the years;

Down their carved names the raindrop plows.