 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
A Withered Leaf—seen on a Poet's Table
Poet's hand has placed thee there,
Autumn's brown and wither'd scroll!
Though to outward Eye not fair,
Thou hast beauty for the soul.
Autumn's brown and wither'd scroll!
Though to outward Eye not fair,
Thou hast beauty for the soul.
Though no human pen has trac'd
On that leaf its learned lore;
Love divine the page has grac'd,
And can man's vain words teach more?
On that leaf its learned lore;
Love divine the page has grac'd,
And can man's vain words teach more?
Not alone dim Autumn's blast
Echoes from yon tablet sear;
Distant music of the Past
Steals upon the poet's ear.
Echoes from yon tablet sear;
Distant music of the Past
Steals upon the poet's ear.
Voices sweet of Summer hours,
Spring's soft whispers murmur by,
Feather'd song from leafy bowers,
Draw his listening soul on high.
Spring's soft whispers murmur by,
Feather'd song from leafy bowers,
Draw his listening soul on high.
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Far above these realms he soars,
Realms of Death and pale Decay;
And above God's throne adores,
Mid the spirit's native day.
Realms of Death and pale Decay;
And above God's throne adores,
Mid the spirit's native day.
Poem No. 399; 14 November 1835
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |