Spring and Fall: to a young child

M'rgar't, 're you gr'eving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Le'ves, like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? 'h! 's the heart grows older It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you w'll weep and know why. Now no matter, child, the name: S'rrow's spr'ngs 're 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.