Remains.

WISDOM

It was a night of early spring,

The winter-sleep was scarcely broken;

Around us shadows and the wind

Listened for what was never spoken.

Though half a score of years are gone,

Spring comes as sharply now as then–

But if we had it all to do

It would be done the same again.

It was a spring that never came;

But we have lived enough to know

That what we never have, remains;

It is the things we have that go.

Sara Teasdale