Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/215
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ON AN AUTUMNAL LEAF.
197
"Sere leaves that dangle from Life's tree,"
The old might well have said,
"A relic of the past are we;
A remnant of the dead;
Like emblems of forlorn decay
We linger till the last;
But death's long night shall turn to day,
When Time itself is past!"
The old might well have said,
"A relic of the past are we;
A remnant of the dead;
Like emblems of forlorn decay
We linger till the last;
But death's long night shall turn to day,
When Time itself is past!"
On an Autumnal Leaf.
That autumn leaf is sere and dead,
And soon will seek its wintry bed;
Yet many a lesson can supply
To fancy's ever watchful eye.
And soon will seek its wintry bed;
Yet many a lesson can supply
To fancy's ever watchful eye.
It once was green, and fair, and young,
Heaven's brightest beam was on it flung,
With many a friend that round it grew,
It danced in every breeze that blew.
Heaven's brightest beam was on it flung,
With many a friend that round it grew,
It danced in every breeze that blew.
But now old age has stolen on—
Its youthful beauty all is gone;
And now it dreads the zephyr's play,
Which only bears its friends away.
Its youthful beauty all is gone;
And now it dreads the zephyr's play,
Which only bears its friends away.
And, trembling on its parent stem,
It scarce can bear the dewy gem;
Its former strength and vigour past,
It meets each moment as its last!
It scarce can bear the dewy gem;
Its former strength and vigour past,
It meets each moment as its last!
The brightest sun may shed its ray,
The fairest moon upon it play,
The balmy air may pass it o'er,
But never can its life restore.
The fairest moon upon it play,
The balmy air may pass it o'er,
But never can its life restore.
Its lot was this—to bloom awhile,
And give to Nature's face one smile;
The voice of Heaven in autumn calls,
Its part is done!—and see, it falls.
And give to Nature's face one smile;
The voice of Heaven in autumn calls,
Its part is done!—and see, it falls.
'Tis thus with man—youth yields to age,
And sad reflection fills the page
Of former times and hopes now fled,—
Of early friends, and vigour dead.
And sad reflection fills the page
Of former times and hopes now fled,—
Of early friends, and vigour dead.