 | Poems |  |
338
FROM MILLEVOYE.
Fallen from thy parent bough,
Poor wither'd leaf, where goest thou?
From the mountain to the vale,
From the forest to the hill
I flutter, carried by the gale,
Hither, thither, at its will.
Poor wither'd leaf, where goest thou?
From the mountain to the vale,
From the forest to the hill
I flutter, carried by the gale,
Hither, thither, at its will.
I go where each thing goes,
Without complaint or grief,
The leaf of the withered rose
And the faded laurel leaf.
Without complaint or grief,
The leaf of the withered rose
And the faded laurel leaf.
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