Embers

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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I said, "My youth is gone Like a fire beaten out by the rain, That will never sway and sing Or play with the wind again." I said, "It is no great sorrow That quenched my youth in me, But only little sorrows Beating ceaselessly." I thought my youth was gone, But you returned, Like a flame at the call of the wind It leaped and burned; Threw off its ashen cloak, And gowned anew Gave itself like a bride Once more to you.

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