Read "Uses" by Edith Wharton online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
AH, from the niggard tree of Time / How quickly fall the hours! / It needs no touch of wind or rime / To loose such facile flowers.
Drift of the dead year's harvesting, / They clog to-morrow's way, / Yet serve to shelter growths of spring / Beneath their warm decay,
Or, blent by pious hands with rare / Sweet savours of content, / Surprise the soul's December air / With June's forgotten scent.