RED oer the forest peers the setting sun;
The line of yellow light dies fast away
the eastern copse; and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.
Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,
And Echo bids good-night from every glade;
wait awhile and see the calm leaves float
Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.
How like decaying life they seem to glide
And yet no second spring have they in store;
where they fall, forgotten to abide
Is all their portion, and they ask no more.
Soon oer their heads blithe April airs shall sing,
A thousand wild-flowers round them shall
The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,
And all be vernal rapture as of old.
Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,
In all the world of busy life around
No thought of themin
all the bounteous sky
No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.
Mans portion is to die and rise again:
Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part
their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain
As his when Eden held his virgin heart.
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd,
and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission.
See our FAQ for more details.