What shall I tell you, child, in this new Sonnet?
Life's art is to forget, and last year's sowing
Cast in Time's furrow with the storm winds blowing
Bears me a wild crop with strange fancies on it.
Last year I wore your sole rose in my bonnet.
This year--who knows--who, even the All--knowing,
What to my vagrant heart, for its undoing,
Of weeds shall blossom ere my tears atone it?
--New Spring is in the air with new desirings;
New wonders fructify Earth, Sea, and Heaven,
And happy birds sing loud from a new nest.
Ah, why then grieve Love's recreant aspirings,
His last year's hopes, his vows forgot, forgiven?
Child, be we comforted! New things are best.

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/new-things-are-best/