Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Which

We are both of us sad at heart,
   But I wonder who can say
Which has the harder part,
   Or the bitterer grief to-day.

You grieve for a love that was lost
   Before it had reached its prime;
I sit here and count the cost
   Of a love that has lived its time.

Your blossom was plucked in its May,
   In its dawning beauty and pride;
Mine lived till the August day,
   And reached fruition and died.

You pressed its leaves in a book,
   And you weep sweet tears o’er them.
Dry eyed I sit and look
   On a withered and broken stem.

And now that all is told,
   Which is the sadder, pray,
To give up your dream with its gold,
   Or to see it fade into grey?