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The leaves that green to summer branches clung,Lit by the torch of autumn, flare and burnIn radiance more than summer's; then - they fall,And leave the branches lone and tenantless.The torch of Time with autumn splendor lightsYour summer memories, who here have toldOf battle-front and camp-fire comradery.Viewed through the mist of years, you see your pastAglow like autumn woods through autumn haze -The glamour and the glory more than tune's.Too soon - O wearers of the sacred blue -The frost that falls shall bare those golden boughs;But as one lays away the autumn leavesBetween the pages of his book, so, here,Forever safe from storms that dull and fade;Forever safe from snow's oblivion;Forever to your children's children's eyesAs bright and glory-hued as to your own,These martial memories of your youth are kept.Marian Warner Wildman.
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