AFTERWARDS.

AFTERWARDS.
250.5

Oh, to think that the world will go on
After we are dead!
Lovers will go on loving
The old, old words will be said.

New buds will bloom in April,
And white be the apple-bough;
June will return, the birds troop back,
The earth will be as glad as now.

The long, green pageant of summer
Will march its accustomed way,
And year after year the autumn pomp
Will crimson the pallid day.

Lovers will go on loving,
The words that we said will be said,
When you and I are forgotten,
When you and I are dead.
-Chas. Hanson