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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
FABLE: 16, by ANTOINE VINCENT ARNAULT
First Line: Thou poor leaf, so sear and frail
Last Line: Glory's laurel, beauty's rose.
First Line: Thou poor leaf, so sear and frail
Last Line: Glory's laurel, beauty's rose.
THOU poor leaf, so sear and frail,
Sport of every wanton gale,
Whence and whither dost thou fly
Through this bleak autumnal sky? --
On a noble oak I grew,
Green and broad, and fair to view;
But the monarch of the shade
By the tempest low was laid.
From that time, I wander o'er
Wood and valley, hill and moor,
Wheresoe'er the wind is blowing,
Nothing caring, nothing knowing;
Thither go I whither goes
Glory's laurel, Beauty's rose.
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