Author John Banister Tabb The Fir-tree felt it with a thrill And murmur of content; The last dead Leaf its cable slipt And from its moorings went; The selfsame silent messenger To one the shibboleth Of Life imparting, and to one The countersign of Death. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments