The elmwood trees form an arch at the end of our street, A swaying cascade of yellow gold in autumn, And every little while the wind sweeps by Singing songs, rollicking songs So gay! Such a gallant troubadour Begging of their leaves, And how can they resist him? Merrily they give them up And they dance blithely down the dirty pavement Like a host of yellow butterflies set free. For an instant they are borne on their fragile wings Across the sunlit skies Before they flutter, trembling downward To lie mute in their agony -- Crumbled, broken and dead. The elmwood trees form an arch at the end of our street, In winter the wind sweeps by again Circling in endless entreaties, But the trees remain silent. Their arms are barren. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVER IN HELL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET FREE FANTASIA ON JAPANESE THEMES by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CONVENT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SWEET CLOVER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FAIR HARVARD by GEORGE SANTAYANA |