Poems (Charlotte Allen)/The First Yellow Leaf
THE FIRST YELLOW LEAF.
'T was a holy Sabbath's smiling day,
The sportive winds had waked up to play,
While cool and fresh was their autumn breath,
That spoke to my heart of change and death.
Mem'ry was strewing my path with gems,
Those intellectual diadems,
That sparkle within the mental shrine,
Like dew-drops on the clustering vine,
When a golden leaf from its parent's side,
Came trembling down in its fallen pride,
And entered the window's broken pane,
Never, oh never to rise again,
And hold its place 'mong its sister leaves,
Where winds and birds their music weaves.
T was the first sere leaf that met' my view,
And it breathed a tale of saddened hue
It spoke to me in more touching tones,
Than any that human effort owns.
For though it was but a little leaf,
Whose hold was frail and whose date was brief,
'T was a striking type of earthly things,
Fading away 'neath Time's pressing wings.
A record of life, though brief, yet true,
A monitor and a moral too.
It told me that life was hastening on,
That our joys and griefs would soon be gone,
That "passing away," is stamped on all
In the lowly cot or gilded hall;
Nought can escape decay's fell power,
From lowly man, to the humblest flower.
"Passing away" is borne on the breeze,
And written upon the changing trees.
Wherever we turn, whatever see,
We are told of Time's fidelity.
So may I live, that when death shall come
To summon my weary spirit home,
I may calmly pass from things of time,
To a better land and a purer clime;
Breathe not a sigh for this world of grief,
But gently depart like the yellow leaf.
The sportive winds had waked up to play,
While cool and fresh was their autumn breath,
That spoke to my heart of change and death.
Mem'ry was strewing my path with gems,
Those intellectual diadems,
That sparkle within the mental shrine,
Like dew-drops on the clustering vine,
When a golden leaf from its parent's side,
Came trembling down in its fallen pride,
And entered the window's broken pane,
Never, oh never to rise again,
And hold its place 'mong its sister leaves,
Where winds and birds their music weaves.
T was the first sere leaf that met' my view,
And it breathed a tale of saddened hue
It spoke to me in more touching tones,
Than any that human effort owns.
For though it was but a little leaf,
Whose hold was frail and whose date was brief,
'T was a striking type of earthly things,
Fading away 'neath Time's pressing wings.
A record of life, though brief, yet true,
A monitor and a moral too.
It told me that life was hastening on,
That our joys and griefs would soon be gone,
That "passing away," is stamped on all
In the lowly cot or gilded hall;
Nought can escape decay's fell power,
From lowly man, to the humblest flower.
"Passing away" is borne on the breeze,
And written upon the changing trees.
Wherever we turn, whatever see,
We are told of Time's fidelity.
So may I live, that when death shall come
To summon my weary spirit home,
I may calmly pass from things of time,
To a better land and a purer clime;
Breathe not a sigh for this world of grief,
But gently depart like the yellow leaf.