If I were to walk this way
Hand in hand with
Grief,
I should mark that maple-
spray
Coming into leaf.
I should note how the old
burrs
Rot upon the ground.
Yes, though Grief should know me hers
While
the world goes round,
It could not if
truth be said
This was lost on me:
A rock-
maple showing red,
Burrs beneath a
tree.
--from The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems, 1923, Edna St. Vincent Millay