The lads they are like leaves in spring, They fall as soon as they are green; No tree and bare of bow, no single thing Has left me, but the oak and green.
The oak, you see it stands so tall, Yet falls in every storm that blows, It loses boughs, but its trunk is all That stays and knows, as it surely grows.
When spring returns to dress the field, The daisy blooms, and all things make. But only leave a broken shield, It’s not enough for life’s own sake.
- AE Housman