I LUSH summer lit the trees to green; But in the ditch hard by Lay dying boughs some hand unseen Had lopped when first with festal mien They matched their mates on high. It seemed a melancholy fate That leaves but brought to birth so late Should rust there, red and numb, In quickened fall, while all their race Still joyed aloft in pride of place With store of days to come. II At autumn-end I fared that way, And traced those boughs fore-hewn Whose leaves, awaiting their decay In slowly browning shades, still lay Where they had lain in June And now, no less embrowned and curst Than if they had fallen with the first, Nor known a morning more, Lay there alongside, dun and sere, Those that at my last wandering here Had length of days in store. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A NEW HYMN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD WAR VERSE (1914) by EZRA POUND MONOLOGUE FROM A MATTRESS by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE MAIZE by WILLIAM WHITEMAN FOSDICK THE ROAD TO FRANCE by DANIEL MACINTYRE HENDERSON THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE CREATION (A NEGRO SERMON) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE DARKNESS OF EGYPT by MARIA ABDY ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 16. TO CALEB HARDINGE, M.D. by MARK AKENSIDE |