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The Poem

Now summer goes
And tomorrow’s snows
Will soon be deep,
And the sky of blue
Which summer knew
Sees shadows creep.

As the gleam tonight
Which is silver bright
Spans ghostly forms,
The winds rush by
With a warning cry
Of coming storms.

So the laurel fades
On the snow swept glades
Of flying years,
And the dreams of youth
Find the bitter truth
Of pain and tears.

Through the cheering mass
Let the victors pass
To find fate’s thrust,
As tomorrow’s fame
Writes another name
On drifting dust.

 

I found this poem in a book a long time ago. In the 1920’s, a Cleveland Indian baseball player named Bill Wambsganns was on a subway in New York, going to the Polo Grounds for a game against the Yankees. He found this poem in the paper he was reading (as he related the story to the author) and it so moved him he clipped it out and stuck it in his wallet (where it remained for years.) He repeated it to the author of the book and, well, it moved me, too. I hope you like it.

 
 
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