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Walking home through the forest again yesterday, I felt ambivalent about the beauty of the fallen leaves. I thought of this poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Spring and Fall
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.
Have you read Pollard by Laura Beatty. Fabulous first novel about girl going feral in the woods - suspect you'd love it.
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