Another poem

I've always loved this poem, and I committed it to memory long ago. My mother has somewhat ruined it for me by telling me that she wants it read at her funeral (Her name is Margaret, and it is about mortality, after all.), but I still like the words and the way they roll off the tongue. I think the poem sounds wonderful when read aloud because it has a soft, conversational tone to it.

To A Young Child
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By & by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep & know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.