Yellow and dry with age,

Only a date recorded

Down at the ending page.

Only a breath from the mountain,

A song with the summer wed;

Only the voice of a fountain,

Only a dream that is dead.

Only a faded morning,

With a shadow falling through,

Only a hint of warning—

A cloud in the far off blue.

Only a word of parting

Under a starlit sky;

Only a tear that is starting,

A long and a last good bye.

Only a face of sorrow

Turned to a vanished year—

Only a fern leaf, darling,

Glued to the pages here.