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264
The Sumach Leaves
Some autumn leaves a painter took,
And with his colors caught their hues;
So true to nature did they look,
That none to praise them could refuse.
And with his colors caught their hues;
So true to nature did they look,
That none to praise them could refuse.
The yellow, mingling with the red,
Shone beauteous in their bright decay;
And round a golden radiance shed,
Like that which hangs o'er parting day.
Shone beauteous in their bright decay;
And round a golden radiance shed,
Like that which hangs o'er parting day.
Their sister leaves that, fair as these,
This far had shared a common lot;
All soiled, and scattered by the breeze,
Are now by every one forgot.
This far had shared a common lot;
All soiled, and scattered by the breeze,
Are now by every one forgot.
Soon trodden under foot of men,
Their very forms will cease to be;
Nor they remembered be again,
Till Autumn decks once more the tree.
Their very forms will cease to be;
Nor they remembered be again,
Till Autumn decks once more the tree.
But these shall still their beauty boast,
To praise the painter's wondrous art;
When Autumn's glories all are lost,
And with the fading year depart.
To praise the painter's wondrous art;
When Autumn's glories all are lost,
And with the fading year depart.
And through the wintry months so pale
The Sumach's brilliant hues recall;
Where, waving over hill and vale,
They gave its splendor to our Fall.
The Sumach's brilliant hues recall;
Where, waving over hill and vale,
They gave its splendor to our Fall.
Poem No. 427; c. 9 November 1850
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