 | Poems by Rose Terry |  |
36
FALL.
I heard a tree to its sole self complain,
Amid whose robes of rust and scarlet stain
The solemn sunshine poured its golden rain.
Amid whose robes of rust and scarlet stain
The solemn sunshine poured its golden rain.
Strange as the mournful sounds that steal through sleep,
As if a mist should strive in dews to weep,
The low, sad cadence past my sense did creep.
As if a mist should strive in dews to weep,
The low, sad cadence past my sense did creep.
“Ah! little, tender, dancing leaves, that first
Out of my sere and wintry branches burst,
With mildest showers and April sunshine nurst;
Out of my sere and wintry branches burst,
With mildest showers and April sunshine nurst;
“More verdant garlands, fresh with life and June,
Wherein the light winds played a fairy tune,
And set them glittering to the quiet moon;
Wherein the light winds played a fairy tune,
And set them glittering to the quiet moon;
“Then, in their prime, the thick, green summer leaves,
Lost in whose rustling depth the cricket grieves,
Or the quaint spider radiant tracery weaves;
Lost in whose rustling depth the cricket grieves,
Or the quaint spider radiant tracery weaves;
37
“Swift ye forsake, slow fluttering to the ground,
These desolate boughs no more with glory crowned,
Where every rain may breathe its sighing sound.
These desolate boughs no more with glory crowned,
Where every rain may breathe its sighing sound.
“One, and another, and another yet;
No time for grief to ripen to regret!
Full on my brow stands the sharp coronet.
No time for grief to ripen to regret!
Full on my brow stands the sharp coronet.
“Did the cold terror, curdling at my heart,
Strike sudden death, and force your clasp apart,
I too were all too chill to feel ye part.
Strike sudden death, and force your clasp apart,
I too were all too chill to feel ye part.
“But warm and fierce the vital torrent flows,
As keener thorns surround the brightest rose,
Death's bitterest draught life's ardor only knows.”
As keener thorns surround the brightest rose,
Death's bitterest draught life's ardor only knows.”
| Poems by Rose Terry | |