Sara Teasdale — Embers

I said, "My youth is gone   Like a fire beaten out by the rain, That will never sway and sing   Or play with the wind again." I said, "It is no great sorrow   That quenched my youth in me, But only little sorrows   Beating ceaselessly." I thought my youth was gone,   But you returned— Like a flame at the call of the wind   It leaped and burned; Threw off its ashen cloak,   And gowned anew Gave itself like a bride   Once more to you.