 | Later poems by John B. Tabb |  |
54
LEAVES
All your sylvan propheciesBut a phantom sigh!
“Yea, we listened to the breeze
Tempting us to fly
Like the summer birds and bees
From the branches high:
Now beneath our naked trees
Shadowless we lie,
In the autumn mysteries
Doomed, alas, to die.”
| Later poems by John B. Tabb | |