The Scouring of the White Horse

OLD AND NEW.

See how the Autumn leaves float by, decaying,

Down the red whirls of yon rain-swollen stream;

So fleet the works of men, back to their earth again;

Ancient and holy things fade like a dream.

Nay! see the Spring blossoms steal forth a-maying,

Clothing with tender buds orchard and glen;

So, though old forms go by, ne’er can their spirit die.

Look! England’s bare boughs show green leaf again.

Kingsley.