Classic Poem

Borne on the breath of morn,
Wafted by winds of night,
Eddying here,
Scattering there,
Leaving the boughs forlorn,
Making the hollows bright,
Mother Earth calling
Them to their falling—
Falling leaves!

Hark to their music sweet;
Sweet and sad as they pass
Through the thick web
Of twigs overhead,
Tinkling on boughs they meet,
Raining down on the grass,
Gleaming so brightly,
Dropping so lightly—
Watch the leaves!

Sadly the gray sky grieves
O'er the summer fallen and dead;
And the north wind rough,
Takes the beautiful woof,
And into the dry grass weaves
A carpet a king might tread.
From mountain to strand,
All over the land,—
Falling leaves!

Like a flock of bright-winged birds
They are fluttering down from the trees,
Never again to fly
Their beauty in the sky.
Never again will be heard
Their song on the wandering breeze,
Soothing the souls of men,
Whispering over again
Message sweet.

Yet other leaves will come,
And glow, and fade, and fall;
And other eyes shall see
Their beauty on the tree,
And the maidens bring them home
To deck the cottage wall;
While over the lawn
The children run,
Tossing the leaves—
Happy leaves!

They fall like the tribes of men,
As they hurry down to their graves;
Beaten by every blast,
They sink to their rest at last;
And they never will live again,
Vanished to mix with the leaves
That through the long years
Have fallen like tears—
Nature's tears.

And still come the airy hosts,
Pouring their strength on the ground.
Soon they will be at rest,
Close in their dark graves prest;
Yet a few, in the winter, like ghosts,
Will fly with a rustling sound
Round the safe dwelling,
Their mournful tale telling—
Withered leaves!

I think o'er the fall of friends
As I muse o'er the fall of the year;
And the air is filled
With the thoughts distilled,
And my song of the autumn ends,
And I mark the close with a tear,
Then fling my pen far away,
And all the rest of the day
Watch the leaves,
Falling leaves.