 | Wild honey from various thyme |  |
139
FALLING LEAVES
To hush within my heart the beating cryUp toward thy hills, I cross an English street,
On to a garden where great lindens meet:
The leaves are falling—ah, how free to die!
The leaves are falling, life is passing by,
The leaves are falling slowly at my feet,
And soon with the dead summer, soon—how sweet!—
They will be garnered safe from every eye.
Their honey-mingling life among the trees
Is as it had not been; by twos and threes
Wide to the dimming earth they fall, they fall,
Yet, as I watch them dropping, something stills,
Heart of my heart, that over-bitter call,
As for one lost, to thee among thy hills.
| Wild honey from various thyme | |