 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
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LEAVES.
Οιη περ φυλλων γενεη, τοιηδε και ανδρων.
Deep among forest-quietudes of green
My steps have wandered, and about me now,
In soft complexities of shade and sheen,
On many a lavish-clad midsummer bough,
The innumerous breezy leaves, above, around,
Move with melodious and aerial sound.
My steps have wandered, and about me now,
In soft complexities of shade and sheen,
On many a lavish-clad midsummer bough,
The innumerous breezy leaves, above, around,
Move with melodious and aerial sound.
I pause to look, in meditative mood,
Where all their murmurous myriads richly throng,
And think what touches of similitude,
What dark or bright analogies belong
(As bonds that Nature's mystic shuttle weaves)
Between the lives of men and lives of leaves!
Where all their murmurous myriads richly throng,
And think what touches of similitude,
What dark or bright analogies belong
(As bonds that Nature's mystic shuttle weaves)
Between the lives of men and lives of leaves!
Some in the loftiest places burst their buds,
And get the sun's gold kiss while they uncurl;
They front the stars and the proud moon that floods
Pure domes of limpid heaven with airy pearl.
They see the damask of cool dawns; they gaze
On smiles that light the lips of dying days!
And get the sun's gold kiss while they uncurl;
They front the stars and the proud moon that floods
Pure domes of limpid heaven with airy pearl.
They see the damask of cool dawns; they gaze
On smiles that light the lips of dying days!
And some in lowlier places must abide,
And gain but glimpses, perishably dear,
Of altering cloud and meadow glimmering wide,
And the large lovely world beyond their sphere!
And some have rare dews thrill each thirsty stem,
Or rarelier yet, a bird's wing brushes them!
And gain but glimpses, perishably dear,
Of altering cloud and meadow glimmering wide,
And the large lovely world beyond their sphere!
And some have rare dews thrill each thirsty stem,
Or rarelier yet, a bird's wing brushes them!
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And some amid their perfect emerald prime
Are torn from nurturing boughs at storm's caprice,
And some turn old and sere before their time,
And flutter down as if in glad release.
And all to Autumn's bleak dismantling blast,
Even all, inevitably yield at last!
Are torn from nurturing boughs at storm's caprice,
And some turn old and sere before their time,
And flutter down as if in glad release.
And all to Autumn's bleak dismantling blast,
Even all, inevitably yield at last!
But when I mark how some that once were fair,
From edge to edge in flawless gloss arrayed,
Must feel the worm's fang gnaw them through, like care,
I seem to have dimly guessed why God has made
So many tremulous leaves, for their frail parts,
Wear, as they throb, the shapes of human hearts!
From edge to edge in flawless gloss arrayed,
Must feel the worm's fang gnaw them through, like care,
I seem to have dimly guessed why God has made
So many tremulous leaves, for their frail parts,
Wear, as they throb, the shapes of human hearts!
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