 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
LEAVES.
What is life, and what are we?
Only leaves upon a tree,
Green to-day, to-morrow sear,
Then we are no longer here.
Only leaves upon a tree,
Green to-day, to-morrow sear,
Then we are no longer here.
Others, fair and brave as we,
Grew of old upon the tree;
Now they crumble in the mould,
With their histories untold.
Grew of old upon the tree;
Now they crumble in the mould,
With their histories untold.
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So shall we: it is our lot
Thus to die and be forgot.
By and by the tree will fall,
And Oblivion cover all.
Thus to die and be forgot.
By and by the tree will fall,
And Oblivion cover all.
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |