Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Wood Road

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 in truth be said
   This was lost on me;
A rock-maple showing red,
   Burrs beneath a tree.