Old Families Are Like Old Flowers
Old families are like old flowers; when we return,
After long years to some deserted home,
Of crumbling wall and staring front, and yearn
For old familiars that now elsewhere roam.
Though flapping board and tangled path foretell
That nature back into her bosom green,
Will take all these in her unhasting spell,
One pledge we find to stay the changing scene.
For bravely still where rose the garden bound,
The lusty hollyhock proclaims its youth;
Tansy and morning glory hold their ground,
And the paled rose surrenders not its truth.
These shall remain though all else goes its way,
Less than a Mayan mystery to become,
And shall retrieve some sweet forgotten day,
Though of its glory but the final sum.