Autumnal leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou delicate and fragrant thing!
Sweet prophet of the coming Spring!
To what can poetry compare
Thy hidden beauty, fresh and fair?
Only they who search can find
Thy trailing garlands close enshrined;
Unveiling, like a lovely face,
Surprising them with artless grace.
Thou seemest like some sleeping babe,
Upon a leafy pillow laid;
Dreaming, in thy unconscious rest,
Of nest'ling on a mother's breast.
Or like a maiden in life's May,
Fresh dawning of her girlish day;
When the pure tint her cheeks disclose
Seems a reflection of the rose.
More coy than hidden love thou art,
With blushing hopes about its heart;
And thy faint breath of fragrance seems
Like kisses stolen in our dreams.

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Thou'rt like a gentle poet's thought,
By Nature's simplest lessons taught,
Reclining on old moss-grown trees,
Communing with the whisp'ring breeze.
Like timid natures, that conceal
What others carelessly reveal;
Reserving for a chosen few
Their wealth of feeling, pure and true.
Like loving hearts, that ne'er grow old,
Through autumn's change, or winter's cold;
Preserving some sweet flowers, that lie
'Neath withered leaves of years gone by.
At sight of thee a troop upsprings
Of simple, pure, and lovely things;
But half thou sayest to my heart,
I find no language to impart.