Forest leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

The last pale flowers are drooping on the stems,
The last searleaves are fluttering on the trees,
The latest groups of summer's flying gems,
Are warbling forth their parting melodies.

The winds seem heavy-wing'd, and linger by,
Whispering to every pale and sighing leaf;
And sun-light falls all dim and tremblingly,
Like love's fond farewell through the mist of grief.

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There is a dreamy presence every where,
As if of spirits passing to and fro;
We almost hear their voices in the air,
And feel their balmy pinions touch the brow.

We feel as if a breath might put aside
The shadowy curtain of the spirit-land;
Revealing all the lov'd and glorified,
That death has taken from affection's band.

We call their names, and listen, for the sound
Of their familiar low-voic'd melodies;
We look almost expectantly around
For their dear faces, with the loving eyes.

We feel them near us, and spread out the scroll
Of hearts, whose feelings they were wont to share,
That they may read the constancy of soul,
And all the high, pure motives written there.

And then we weep, as if our cheek were prest
To holy Friendship's unsuspecting heart,
Which understands our own. Oh, vision blest!
Alas! that such illusion should depart.

I oft have pray'd that death may come to me
In such a spiritual autumnal day;
Heaven seems so near—I tremble to be free,
And pass, with all the beautiful, away.