Poems About Leaves

Table of Contents

Fall Leaves

The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

– Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Christabel

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1. How the Leaves Came Down

   

   by Susan Coolidge

   
   

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   "I'll tell you how the leaves came down,"
   The great Tree to his children said:
   "You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
   Yes, very sleepy, little Red.
   It is quite time to go to bed."

   "Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,
   "Let us a little longer stay;
   Dear Father Tree, behold our grief!
   'Tis such a very pleasant day,
   We do not want to go away."

   So, for just one more merry day
   To the great Tree the leaflets clung,
   Frolicked and danced, and had their way,
   Upon the autumn breezes swung,
   Whispering all their sports among—
   

   "Perhaps the great Tree will forget,
   And let us stay until the spring,
   If we all beg, and coax, and fret."
   But the great Tree did no such thing;
   He smiled to hear their whispering.
   

   "Come, children, all to bed," he cried;
   And ere the leaves could urge their prayer,
   He shook his head, and far and wide,
   Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
   Down sped the leaflets through the air.
   

   I saw them; on the ground they lay,
   Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
   Waiting till one from far away,
   White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,
   Should come to wrap them safe and warm.
   

   The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.
   "Good-night, dear little leaves," he said.
   And from below each sleepy child
   Replied, "Good-night," and murmured,
   "It is _so_ nice to go to bed!"
   

2. The Wind And The Leaves

   

   by George Cooper

   
   

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   "Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
   "Come o'er the meadows with me, and play'
   Put on your dress of red and gold,—
   Summer is gone, and the days grow cold."

   Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
   Down they came fluttering, one and all;
   Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
   Singing the soft little songs they knew.

   "Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long;
   Little brook, sing us your farewell song,—
   Say you are sorry to see us go;
   Ah! you will miss us, right well we know."

   "Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold,
   Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
   Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade;
   Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"

   Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went;
   Winter had called them, and they were content.
   Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,
   The snow laid a coverlet over their heads.

   
   

   When the leaves are flying
   Across the azure sky,
   Autumn on the hill top
   Turns to say good-by;
   

   – Bliss Carman
   Lines for a Picture

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3. October's Party

   by George Cooper

   
   

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   October gave a party;
   The leaves by hundreds came—
   The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
   And leaves of every name.
   The Sunshine spread a carpet,
   And everything was grand,
   Miss Weather led the dancing,
   Professor Wind the band.
   

   The Chestnuts came in yellow,
   The Oaks in crimson dressed;
   The lovely Misses Maple
   In scarlet looked their best;
   All balanced to their partners,
   And gaily fluttered by;
   The sight was like a rainbow
   New fallen from the sky.
   

   Then, in the rustic hollow,
   At hide-and-seek they played,
   The party closed at sundown,
   And everybody stayed.
   Professor Wind played louder;
   They flew along the ground;
   And then the party ended
   In jolly "hands around."
   

4. Autumn Song

   by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

   
   

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   Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
   How the heart feels a languid grief
   Laid on it for a covering,
   And how sleep seems a goodly thing
   In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

   And how the swift beat of the brain
   Falters because it is in vain,
   In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
   Knowest thou not? and how the chief
   Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?

   Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
   How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
   Bound up at length for harvesting,
   And how death seems a comely thing
   In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
   
   

   Red leaf and yellow leaf
   Are flaunting through the air;
   The paths are rustling underfoot,
   The sun is everywhere.
   

   – William Francis Barnard
   The End of Wood Cutting

   “

5. Leaves

   by Lillie Belle Dimond

   
   

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   I want to go where the leaves are burning,
   Burning in scarlet and gold;
   The wind is up and my heart is turning
   Again to the forest old.
   

   I want to go where the leaves keep dropping,
   Dropping in crimson and brown;
   From dawn till dusk, not a moment stopping,
   They are drifting, drifting down.
   

   I want to go where the leaves are blowing,
   Blowing in russet and red;
   The brook like a voice, through the silence flowing,
   Still whispers of summer dead.
   

   Yet, why go back where the leaves are falling,
   Falling again on the hill?
   Tho woods await and the winds are calling
   Thy voice is forever still.
   

6. Maple Leaves

   by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

   October turned my maple's leaves to gold;
   The most are gone now; here and there one lingers:
   Soon these will slip from out the twigs' weak hold,
   Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.
   

   
   

   And when the trees resign their foliage,
   Loosing their leaves upon the cradling air
   As liberally as if they ne'er had owned them,—
   They show the richer for the nakedness
   That weds them with the clarity of heav'n.
   

   – John Jay Chapman
   Trees in Autumn

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7. An Autumn Fantasie

   by Ruby Archer

   
   

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   One by one the dead leaves fall,
   Yielding gently to the call
   Of the autumn wind.
   Half reluctantly they go,
   Falter, waver to and fro,
   Glancing oft behind.
   

   How the wind catches them,
   Greedily snatches them,
   Whirling and swirling them
   Dizzily 'round
   Coyly it plays with them,
   Sportively sways with them
   Down to the ground.
   Were they longing to be blest
   With a single moment's rest?
   From the sward they're torn,—
   Mad careering 'round and high,
   'Till they mingle in the sky,
   Breathlessly they're borne.
   As they earthward return,
   Their tired spirits yearn
   For a bourne of repose.
   They hesitate, waver,
   Then by the wind's favor
   Their pilgrimage close.
   

8. The Love-leaf

   by Ruby Archer

   
   

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   In thought I wandered through the falling brightness
   Of autumn leaves; no meaning they possessed,
   Until one radiant leaf in playful lightness
   Came whispering down and nestled on my breast.
   

   A sense of pleasure thrilled through all my being;
   To be more sure I felt the presence fair,
   I touched it with my hand. Ah—swiftly fleeing,
   It fell in formless fragments on the air.
   

   Perhaps it was an omen. Love may flutter,
   A bright-hued leaf from fate's o'er-hanging tree,
   May fall to nestle at my heart, may utter
   A murmured word of tenderness to me.
   

   And if I seek with trembling touch to banish
   A fear that love lives only in the mind,
   Then will the glory of the love-leaf vanish,
   And leave but dust and memories behind.
   

   
   

   The yellow leaf, from the shivering tree,
   On Autumn's blast is flying;
   

   – Hannah Flagg Gould
   The Musical Box

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9. The Falling Leaves

   by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

   Lightly He blows, and at His breath they fall,
   The perishing kindreds of the leaves; they drift,
   Spent flames of scarlet, gold aërial,
   Across the hollow year, noiseless and swift.
   Lightly He blows, and countless as the falling
   Of snow by night upon a solemn sea,
   The ages circle down beyond recalling,
   To strew the hollows of Eternity.
   He sees them drifting through the spaces dim,
   And leaves and ages are as one to Him.
   

   
   

   "The dead leaves strow the forest walk,
   And wither'd are the pale wild-flowers;
   The frost hangs blackening on the stalk,
   The dewdrops fall in frozen showers.
   Gone are the spring's green sprouting bowers,
   Gone summer's rich and mantling vines,
   And Autumn, with her yellow hours,
   On hill and plain no longer shines.
   

   – John Brainard
   "The Dead Leaves Strow the Forest Walk"

   “

10. The Falling Leaves

    by Marianne Farningham

    
    

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    They fall upon the sodden earth, the fading, dying leaves,
    Death comes to them, the beautiful, in the autumnal breeze;
    Their little summer day is past, and yellow, dry, and sere,
    They droop before the lightest touch of winter's finger drear.
    

    Old trees, ye will be desolate, and naked, and forlorn,
    Lifting your bare arms upward 'mid the frosty winter's morn!
    Old trees, your bright green, dancing leaves, where sunbeams loved to play,
    The angry storm relentlessly will sweep them all away.
    

    And we have had our falling leaves—the autumn winds have come
    And rudely swept across our hearts, and robbed our pleasant home.
    The friends we loved, the joys we clasped, the hopes that made us glad,
    Are drooping one by one away, and leave us poor and sad.
    

    But he whom God has planted where the eternal rivers glide,
    Has God's own promise that his leaves shall fair and green abide;
    That though "the fig-tree wither" and "the olive branches fail,"
    The tree that he has planted still shall flourish young and hale.
    

    For every hope that fadeth he shall give a fadeless joy;
    For every drooping pleasure, perfect gifts without alloy;
    For every passing loved one, purer love to bud and bloom
    In the land where death shall come not—in the home without a tomb.
    

    Then let us meet the autumn with a strong and perfect trust,
    And fear not that the stormy wind shall lay us in the dust;
    For a mighty hand is o'er us, and a Father's perfect love
    Shall guard till he transplants us in the garden fair above.
    

    
    

    And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.

    – Psalm 1:3
    The Bible, KJV

    “

11. Falling Leaves

    by Edwin Oscar Gale

    
    

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    The winter approaches, the summer is past,
    How fast the leaves fall in the chilly north blast.
    They gather in heaps by the side of the way,
    Then scatter like children in rollicking play.
    They seem as the birds with intelligence crowned
    Slow fluttering down from the trees to the ground.
    How joyous their movements as upward they spring
    Like some clumsy fledgling first trying its wing.
    No lark appears happier chasing its note,
    The joy in its heart leaping out at its throat.
    

    When May last approached with its bright sunny skies,
    And Flora's pet child with its indigo eyes
    Was watching a youth in a golden surtout,
    As slowly he rose from taraxicum root,
    The oak at my window looked barren and dead,
    No promise of leaves where the old had been shed,
    His fingerless hands to the sun he upbore;
    A beggar forlorn, he did mutely implore
    Apollo to clothe him with verdure again,
    Through woofs of the sun to weave warps of the rain.
    

    The wind swept its branches, as harps that are strung.
    The birds were in transport and sang as they swung;
    The clouds scattered tears on each embryo leaf,
    The sun kissed them off, giving gladness for grief;
    The buds bursting bonds that had held them so long,
    Though weaklings at first became suddenly strong;
    No cunning of man could such power bestow
    And through the alburnum coax fluids to flow.
    Who taught the young leaves to choose food with such skill,
    As bees from the flowers their nectaries fill?
    

    What taste in their vestments they wisely displayed:
    They studied the prism ere garments were made;
    When up in the branches they first could be seen,
    To hasten their growth did they don a bright green;
    Attaining full size they wore russets and browns,
    Like elderly matrons in plain, modest gowns.
    What artists these leaves and what toilers they've been,
    So peerless in painting, so skillful to spin;
    Combining the forces of earth and of air
    They crowned the old oak with a coronet rare.
    Their mission performed they sent down to the soil
    For leaves of the future, bequeathments of oil.
    

    What eloquent sermons these falling leaves preach,
    What lessons of labor and patience they teach,
    Of faith and good works. The gospel of cheer
    They whisper to those who are willing to hear.
    Men boast when they give what they never may miss,
    But where do we find such devotion as this?
    When winds with their flails make the giant oaks bend,
    And, thrashed from their cups, the ripe acorns descend,
    Like angels who come from their bright homes above
    To comfort the hearts sore in need of their love,
    The faithful leaves drop to the acorns below,
    Warm blankets upon them to tenderly throw.
    The winter may come with its ice and its silt,
    But safe are the nuts in their foliage quilt,
    And when they at length shall emerge from the cold,
    The spades of the acorns will pierce the soft mould,
    The leaves that preserved them, now gone to decay
    Will nourish the monarchs of some distant day.
    

    Aye wonderful things are these fast falling leaves,
    From year after year nature daintily weaves
    With dew drops for needles, with sunbeams for thread,
    Gay garbs for the living from shrouds of the dead.
    

12. Autumn Leaves

    The leaves of the sturdy oak trees
    Are splendid with crimson and red.
    And the golden flags of the maple
    Are fluttering overhead.
    

    - Angelina Wray
    Autumn Leaves

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    by Angelina Wray

    
    

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    In the hush and the lonely silence
    Of the chill October night,
    Some wizard has worked his magic
    With fairy fingers light.
    

    The leaves of the sturdy oak trees
    Are splendid with crimson and red.
    And the golden flags of the maple
    Are fluttering overhead.
    

    Through the tangle of faded grasses
    There are trailing vines ablaze,
    And the glory of warmth and color
    Gleams through the autumn haze.
    

    Like banners of marching armies
    That farther and farther go;
    Down the winding roads and valleys
    The boughs of the sumacs glow.
    

    So open your eyes, little children,
    And open your hearts as well,
    Till the charm of the bright October
    Shall fold you in its spell.
    

13. Indian Summer

    by Ruby Archer

    Autumn leaves, why deck yourselves
    In these brilliant hues?
    Is it work of fairy elves,
    Fairies to amuse?
    

    Is it that you would prepare
    For your latest breath—
    Cleopatra-like, be fair
    For the sting of death?
    

14. Trees in Autumn

    by John Jay Chapman

    The poets have made Autumn sorrowful;
    I find her joyous, radiant, serene.
    Her pomp is hung in a deep azure sky
    That turns about the world by day and night,
    Nor loses its bright charm.
    And when the trees resign their foliage,
    Loosing their leaves upon the cradling air
    As liberally as if they ne'er had owned them,—
    They show the richer for the nakedness
    That weds them with the clarity of heav'n.
    

15. When the Leaves Commence to Fall

    by James W. Whilt

    
    

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    When the days commence to shorten
    And the nights are getting long,
    And we miss the flies and skeeters
    And the song birds' sweetest song,—
    To some the summer's passing,
    Leaves the world a darker hue,
    But to me it makes it brighter,
    Just the same as if 'twas new.
    As I say, some people hate it,
    But I love it best of all;
    When the nights are getting frosty
    And the leaves commence to fall.
    

    You get up in the morning
    And the air is crisp and cold,
    The hills have on their war paint,
    Crimson, orange, brown and gold;
    And to me they have a message
    That I can't forget at all,
    When the nights are getting frosty
    And the leaves commence to fall.
    

    I can easily foresee
    That I cannot tarry long,
    So I at once get busy,
    And my heart is full of song;
    As I look my snow-shoes over,
    And patch up my canoe;
    As happy as a little boy
    Whose red-top boots are new.
    And I work both late and early
    And don't want to stop at all,
    When the nights are getting frosty
    And the leaves commence to fall.
    

    Now the north wind is a-blowing
    But, then little do I care,
    For I know a little cabin
    Holds all my grubstake there.
    And that very self-same cabin
    Is dearer to me than all,
    When the nights are getting frosty
    And the leaves commence to fall.
    

    And so I will soon be starting
    To where the deer on meadows play,
    And the wondrous Northern lights
    Make the forest light as day.
    Back to the lakes and rivers,
    As straight as a laden bee,
    Back to the forest primeval,
    That's where I long to be!
    Trapping on creeks and marshes,
    Back where the bull-moose call.
    When the nights are getting frosty
    And the leaves commence to fall.
    

16. Fall, leaves, fall

    by Emily Brontë

    Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
    Lengthen night and shorten day;
    Every leaf speaks bliss to me
    Fluttering from the autumn tree.
    I shall smile when wreaths of snow
    Blossom where the rose should grow;
    I shall sing when night’s decay
    Ushers in a drearier day.
    

17. An Autumn Leaf

    by John B. Tabb

    A nursling of the under-green,
    A tethered wing I poised between
    A heaven above and heaven below—
    Twin Sisters, mirrored in the glow
    Of limpid waters—where the breeze,
    Blind comrade of the listening trees,
    Came wakening with soft caress
    The shadows dumb and motionless.
    

    There once, at summer's close, a flame
    Of fire and song, a Redbird came,
    And, perched upon my parent limb,
    Outpoured his soul. From joy abrim,
    The bubbling vintage of his brain,
    I quaffed, the while each fibre-vein,
    Deep-reddening with emotion, stirred,
    Alas! he heeded not nor heard!
    But when he ceased, and flew away,
    A panting prisoner I lay,
    Close-fettered, till the kindred fire
    Of frost lit up the autumn pyre:
    Then, suddenly, the tidal swell
    Of sap receded, and I fell.
    

18. Gathering Leaves

    Leaves...a crop is a crop,
    And who's to say where
    The harvest shall stop?
    

    - Robert Frost
    Gathering Leaves

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    by Robert Frost

    
    

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    Spades take up leaves
    No better than spoons,
    And bags full of leaves
    Are light as balloons.
    

    I make a great noise
    Of rustling all day
    Like rabbit and deer
    Running away.
    

    But the mountains I raise
    Elude my embrace,
    Flowing over my arms
    And into my face.
    

    I may load and unload
    Again and again
    Till I fill the whole shed,
    And what have I then?
    

    Next to nothing for weight,
    And since they grew duller
    From contact with earth,
    Next to nothing for color.
    

    Next to nothing for use.
    But a crop is a crop,
    And who's to say where
    The harvest shall stop?
    

    Oh, Autumn! why so soon
    Depart the hues that make thy forests glad;
    

    – William Cullen Bryant
    Autumn Woods

    “

19. Nothing Gold Can Stay

    by Robert Frost

    Nature's first green is gold,
    Her hardest hue to hold,
    

    Her early leaf's a flower;
    But only so an hour.
    

    Then leaf subsides to leaf.
    So Eden sank to grief,
    

    So dawn goes down to day.
    Nothing gold can stay.
    

20. Leaves at Play

    by Frank Dempster Sherman

    
    

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    Scamper, little leaves, about
    In the autumn sun;
    I can hear the old Wind shout,
    Laughing as you run,
    And I haven't any doubt
    That he likes the fun.
    

    When you've run a month or so,
    Very tired you'll get;
    But the same old Wind, I know,
    Will be laughing yet
    When he tucks you in your snow
    Downy coverlet
    

    So, run on and have your play,
    Romp with all your might;
    Dance across the autumn day,
    While the sun is bright.
    Soon you'll hear the old Wind say,
    "Little leaves, Good-night!"
    

21. A Maple Leaf

    by Margaret E. Sangster

    So bright in death I used to say,
    So beautiful through frost and cold!
    A lovelier thing I know to-day,
    The leaf is growing old,
    And wears in grace of duty done,
    The gold and scarlet of the sun.
    

22. The Little Leaf

    by Annette Wynne

    
    

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    And so, the little leaf flew far—O far,
    Out to the place where the blue hills are.
    

    It took the wind's hand, and on it went;
    All was so new—it was quite content
    

    To go far away from the mother tree
    And find where the little brook found the sea.
    

23. The Leaves Do Not Mind at All

    by Annette Wynne

    The leaves do not mind at all
    That they must fall.
    When summertime has gone,
    It is pleasant to put on
    A traveling coat of brown and gray
    And fly away,
    Past the barn and past the school,
    Past the noisy little pool,
    It used to hear but could not see.
    O, it is joy to be
    A leaf—and free!
    To be swiftly on the wing
    Like a bird adventuring.
    And then, tired out, to creep
    Under some friendly rail and go to sleep;
    The leaves do not mind at all
    That they must fall.
    

24. Leaves

    by Hilda Conkling

    In my apple-orchard
    In the oldest tree
    Fall has hidden gold leaves.
    I looked into the hollow
    And saw no apples,
    Only leaves with frost on them
    Like marble tilings,
    Like jeweled tables . . .
    Yet there was no gold . . . no marble . . .
    Only leaves covered with frost
    That sparkled the way my thought told me.
    

25. Before It's Time to Go to Bed

    by Annette Wynne

    Before it's time to go to bed,
    Let's have a feast," October said,
    "Let's call our family all together,
    And celebrate this pleasant weather";
    Then every leaf put on her best,
    And each small shrub most richly dressed,
    In red and gold and orange, too,
    And many another party hue.
    The party lasted day and night,
    Until the leaves were tired quite,
    "O Mother Dear," at last each said,
    "It's time for us to go to bed;
    Dear Mother Tree, good-night to you!"
    Then loosed her hand and off it flew,
    And every little sleepy head
    Soon settled in the garden bed,
    And dreamed the dreams that flowers do
    And slept and slept the winter through.
    

26. I Love These Days

    by Annette Wynne

    
    

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    I love these days when autumn leaves
    Are falling everywhere around,
    And I can tread among the sheaves,
    And hear the crispy, crunchy sound.
    

    I leave my dolly safe at home,
    And climb the old gray orchard wall;
    The squirrels spy me where I roam,
    And scamper to the treetops tall.
    

    And O, it is a pleasant thing
    To listen for the happy sound,
    Each little leaflet tries to sing,
    That rustles softly to the ground.
    

    And so I spend the afternoon,
    And watch the leaves go floating by
    Till Mother comes to say that soon
    The dark will come into the sky.
    

    I know when stars are overhead,
    The leaves all gather in a heap,
    And while I lie quite warm in bed,
    They snuggle close and go to sleep.
    

27. Color-Fires

    by Caroline Davenport Swan

    
    

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    September kindles the flame
    From an August sun;
    A burning-glass in her snow-white hand,
    Imperial grace of wide command,
    Lo! the blaze begun!―
    And Love, he watches the stately dame;
    His fires are kindled much the same.
    

    October feedeth the flame,―
    How it laughs and roars!―
    With ruddy maples, and elms that burn,
    And orange masses of sunlit fern,
    His golden stores.
    But Love remembers a fiercer claim;
    "My fires," quoth he, "put thine to shame."
    

    November buries the coals
    I' the sodden grass.
    His tremulous fingers all a-cold,
    He shivers across the silvery wold,
    As shadows pass.
    And Love is flying!―A sweet bell tolls.―
    O heap of ashes! O weary souls!
    

More Leaf Poems

28. A Leaf

    by John McGovern

    
    

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    From out the topmost bulb — a budding sentry —
    A leaflet spread its green against the blue;
    The songsters heralded its earthly entry
    And it was christened in the morning's dew.
    

    All through the summer, on an oak that towered,
    A stately captain of his lordly kind,
    It fanned the birdlings in their nest embowered,
    Or from their housing turned the churlish wind.
    

    Then autumn chanting came, in vestments sober,
    Bearing the cup of dissolution's lees;
    Forth in the majesty of hazed October,
    A withered leaf was hearsed upon the breeze.
    

29. Gossip

    by Emily Dickinson

    The leaves, like women, interchange
    Sagacious confidence;
    Somewhat of nods, and somewhat of
    Portentous inference,
    

    The parties in both cases
    Enjoining secrecy, —
    Inviolable compact
    To notoriety.
    

30. A Maple Leaf

    by Kate Slaughter McKinney

    
    

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    Glancing o’er a childish volume where sweet thoughts like blossoms lay,
    There between two oft read pages, a pressed wreath I found to-day.
    Golden-rod and aster flowers lay with bloom all crushed and dead,
    But a maple leaf among them still retained its gold and red.
    

    In my hand I took the treasure, held it up before my face,
    And the sunlight, then declining, solved its geometric grace.
    Many a road and by-path meeting proved the interwoven veins;
    And a forest rose before me, flaming like my window panes.
    

    As a vision that is pictured by an angel in the night,
    Soon a figure, sometime vanished, rose to my exultant sight.
    Like a goddess of enchantment, there she stood beneath the trees,
    And her face was like a lily, and her eyes like summer seas.
    

    Then I thought, “For me she’s waiting”—so I glanced off to the right,
    For I feared it all a fancy, but I found my home in sight;
    Heard the town-clock slowly striking, and the same familiar bells,
    Saw the court-house and the churches, and “The Summit,” where she dwells.
    

    So I then no longer doubted, down a meadow path I strolled,
    Leading off into the woodland that had stole the sunset’s gold.
    Overhead the birds were flying, but a black winged happy throng
    Paused; for we had been old comrades and they sang a farewell song.
    

    But the thoughts that followed after, though the birds away had flown,
    Were so happy, for she met me, linked her arm within my own.
    Up and down the path we wandered, gathering leaves and grasses gray,
    Until darkness drove the twilight o’er the hill where fled the day.
    

    Darkness! and her face had vanished, all alone I seemed to stand,
    But I heard her step departing, and I grasped again her hand.
    Held it tight, and tighter pressing, in a happy strange belief,
    Till I ’woke, and found that dreaming I had crushed my treasured leaf.
    

31. The Leaf

    by Ruby Archer

    The leaflet, greening with a vigored sap,
    Ripens its being in the sun and wind;
    And then, in some cool hour, it loses hold
    Of all that made life dear, and lightly drifts
    On breezy current to the deep of grass,
    And there with autumn rain disintegrates,—
    Giving its mite to richening of earth.
    Is that the end? Wait yet the planets' rolling.
    In Spring, the seeking roots will gather in
    The tender mould our little leaf became,
    And merge it into miracle of life.
    Behold the resurrection of the leaf!
    There is no death—mere winter of a sleep.
    

32. Burning Leaves in Spring

    by Christopher Morley

    
    

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    When withered leaves are lost in flame
    Their eddying ghosts, a thin blue haze,
    Blow through the thickets whence they came
    On amberlucent autumn days.
    

    The cool green woodland heart receives
    Their dim, dissolving, phantom breath;
    In young hereditary leaves
    They see their happy life-in-death.
    

    My minutes perish as they glow—
    Time burns my crazy bonfire through;
    But ghosts of blackened hours still blow,
    Eternal Beauty, back to you!
    

33. Burning Leaves, November

    by Christopher Morley

    
    

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    These are folios of April,
    All the library of spring,
    Missals gilt and rubricated
    With the frost's illumining.
    

    Ruthless, we destroy these treasures,
    Set the torch with hand profane—
    Gone, like Alexandrian vellums,
    Like the books of burnt Louvain!
    Yet these classics are immortal:
    O collectors, have no fear,
    For the publisher will issue
    New editions every year.
    

34. Green Leaves and Sere

    by Mathilde Blind

    
    

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    Three tall poplars beside the pool
    Shiver and moan in the gusty blast,
    The carded clouds are blown like wool,
    And the yellowing leaves fly thick and fast.
    

    The leaves, now driven before the blast,
    Now flung by fits on the curdling pool,
    Are tossed heaven-high and dropped at last
    As if at the whim of a jabbering fool.
    

    O leaves, once rustling green and cool!
    Two met here where one moans aghast
    With wild heart heaving towards the past:
    Three tall poplars beside the pool.
    

35. "The Snowing of the Pines"

    by Thomas Wentworth Higginson

    
    

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    Softer than silence, stiller than still air,
    Float down from high pine-boughs the slender leaves.
    The forest floor its annual boon receives
    That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair.
    Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare
    Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves
    Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves
    Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear.
    Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce their way;
    High up, the crows are gathering for the night;
    The delicate needles fill the air; the jay
    Takes through their golden mist his radiant flight;
    They fall and fall, till at November's close
    The snow-flakes drop as lightly—snows on snows.
    

36. The Lesson of the Leaves

    by Thomas Wentworth Higginson

    
    

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    O thou who bearest on thy thoughtful face
    The wearied calm that follows after grief,
    See how the autumn guides each loosened leaf
    To sure repose in its own sheltered place,
    Ah, not forever whirl they in the race
    Of wild forlornness round the gathered sheaf,
    Or hurrying onward in a rapture brief
    Spin o'er the moorlands into trackless space.
    Some hollow captures each; some sheltering wall
    Arrests the wanderer on its aimless way;
    The aiitumn's pensive beauty needs them all,
    And winter finds them warm, though sere and gray.
    They nurse young blossoms for the spring's sweet call,
    And shield new leaflets for the burst of May.
    

    A single wither'd leaf is left
    Upon the forest tree,
    By angry winds and storms bereft
    Of other company:
    And though its friends have long since gone,
    The wither'd leaf still clingeth on!
    

    – Richard Coe
    The One Hope

    “

    
    

37. The Song of the Wind and the Leaves

    by Ed Blair

    
    

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    There's a beautiful song that is sung every day
    When the wind and the leaves play together,
    And I hear the sweet notes as I wander along,
    From my low cottage home to the heather.
    And I fain would express the sweet sentiment there,
    The sweet songs of love and devotion,
    When the wind sighs to stay but must go on its way
    On its journey o'er land and the ocean.
    

    Oh, the songs yet to sing of the beautiful woods,
    Oh, the songs that old Nature is singing,
    I hear them each day as I wander away
    Where the gay summer birds are awinging.
    'Neath the dark shady leaves the soft winds take a peep
    Where the birdlings are nested together,
    And say: "Fly away," for the leaves cannot stay,
    To shelter in bleak autumn weather.
    

    Oh, soft summer winds; oh, beautiful woods,
    Sing on for the children yet coming,
    Sing sweet songs of love while the young turtle doves
    Are cradled to sleep with your humming.
    And when in the autumn the leaves turn to gold,
    And sigh for the wind that will sever,
    They'll sing once again your sweet plaintive strain,
    And the music will go on forever.
    

38. Singing Leaves

    by Ruby Archer

    
    

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    A little princess long ago
    By her father's charger stood,
    To bid Godspeed as he rode away
    To the court in the fairy wood.
    

    "And what shall I bring you, my Sweet?" he cried,
    "Jewels or silken weaves?"
    But she shook her head and plead with him,
    "Oh, bring me the singing leaves!"
    

    And I too stand at my Father's foot,
    While he my behest receives:
    "No fairing give from the gala world,
    But only the singing leaves."
    

39. Dead Leaves

    by Georgia Douglas Johnson

    
    

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    The breaking dead leaves 'neath my feet
    A plaintive melody repeat,
    Recalling shattered hopes that lie
    As relics of a bygone sky.
    

    Again I thread the mazy past,
    Back where the mounds are scattered fast-
    Oh! foolish tears, why do you start,
    To break of dead leaves in the heart?
    

40. Withered Leaves

    by Peter Burn

    
    

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    I watch the leaves as they fade and fall
    And form a heap by my garden wall.
    

    I think of my loss in days "to be,"
    My garden's wealth but a leafless tree.
    

    I loved those leaves in their day of birth:
    I love them now in the lap of earth.
    

    Withered leaves! They are beautiful yet,
    Though nipt by the frost, and dash'd by the wet!
    

    Mine eyes feast not on the world of green,
    Death holds its revels where life has been.
    

    Snow, sleet, and hail, and a sunless sky!
    These, these are mine, till the by and by.
    

    I wait the hour. My heart has rest;
    Seasons are faithful to His behest.
    

    Through leaden sky, and through leafless tree,
    I see the summer that is to be.
    

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