Leaves
And one to the bier,
And one to the charnel; and one—Oh where?" --Shelley.
Brown, and withered as ye lie,
This, ye teach us, 'tis to die;
Blooming but a summer's day,
To fall in autumn quite away.
Once ye flourished on yon bough;
On the earth you're scattered now,
And by every breath of heaven
Like the dust you're wildly driven.
Oft perchance beneath your shade
Her lover's voice has soothed the maid;
But when here again they meet,
Ye shall lie beneath their feet.
Moonbeams fair on you once slept
O'er you night erst sweetly wept;
Morn her dewy jewels flung
Upon you, leaves! when ye were young.
Now, ye withered, scattered lie
Till the wind comes sweeping by,
Then, ye mount the steeds of air,
Then, ye go—Oh! where? Oh! where?
This is life—some smiles and tears,
Joys and sorrows, hopes and fears;
Here to-day, all fresh and fair;
Gone to-morrow—where ? Oh! where?
April, 1827.