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.