Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE YELLOW LEAF, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE YELLOW LEAF, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The year is on the wane - the blue
Last Line: Visions, whose resting-place is heaven!
Alternate Author Name(s): Delta
Subject(s): Autumn; Earth; Leaves; Nature; Seasons; Fall; World


I.

THE year is on the wane—the blue
Of heaven assumes a paler hue;
And when the sun comes forth at morn,
Through melancholy mists forlorn,
Awhile he struggles ere his beam
Falls on the forest and the stream;
And then 'tis with a feebler power
He gilds the day and marks the hour!
Scathed are the mountains and the plains
By sweeping winds and plashing rains,
And both that wintry look assume,
Which speaks to us of wither'd bloom
And vanish'd beauty: roaring floods
Are grown from tiny streams; the woods,
Instead of emerald green, are known
By yellow sere and sullen brown;
And all things which the eyes survey
Are tinged with death, and preach decay!

II.

But yet no hour more sweet than this,
More perfect in its tranquil bliss,
Could man of Heaven desire; the light
Of eve is melting into night,
And from her eastern shrine, where lie,
Pillow'd upon the soft blue sky,
A wreath of snowy clouds, the rim
Of the white moon about to swim
Her course of glory; all around
The scene becomes enchanted ground:
The stream that late in darkness stray'd,
The forest late so black with shade,
Are lighted up; and lo! the hills
A flood of argent glory fills;
While even—far off—the murmuring sea
Is seen in its immensity,
A line of demarcation given
As 'twere between the earth and heaven!

III.

In gazing o'er a scene so fair,
Well may the wondering mind compare
Majestic nature with the strife
And littleness of human life!
Within the rank and narrow span,
Where man contends with brother man,
And where, a few brief seasons past,
Death is the common doom at last,
What find we? In our hour of need,
The generous thought, the liberal deed?—
Or in prosperity, the kind
O'erflowing of congenial mind?
Ah no! instead of these, to Woe
Is ever given another blow;
A drop to Misery's cup of gall;
To Error's feet a further fall;
And, where 'tis least expected, still
Grows up Resentment or Ill-will—
Envy has poison, and has power
To wither Friendship's brightest flower;
And Love, too oft a gilded dream,
Melts like the rain-drop in the stream.

IV.

But Nature grows not old; 'tis we
Who change, and not the flower or tree—
For years, as they revolve, renew
The faded with reviving dew
And genial heat, until as bright
Earth rises on the startled sight,
As when enchanted Adam's eyes
The leafing groves of Paradise—
And shower'd the new-made sun his beams
On spangled plains and crystal streams!

V.

O! could we let the heart retain
Its glow, and dash away the stain
Which sins of others, or our own,
Have made its tablet white upon,
Then might we feel that Earth is not
Entirely an accursed spot;
That gleams of beauty, sparks of bliss,
Flash oft athwart Life's drear abyss;
That from the poison-cup of Woe
A balm of healing oft may flow;
That round the heart are twisted ties
To keep us good, or make us wise;
That duty is the Polar Star
Which leads to peace, though from afar;
And to the pure in heart are given
Visions, whose resting-place is Heaven!





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