ONLY A FADED LEAF.
’Twas only a faded leaf
That settled down on my hair,
The last from a poor bare bough
In the crisp October air.
I gathered it tenderly in,
And could not restrain the tears
As I thought of summer hours
And the silent faded years.
O beautiful fallen leaf!
Russet and crimson and gold,
With a tinge of emerald still,
Smitten by the frost and cold.
A souvenir of the past,
Telling of spring’s fair hours,
Of the bloom and sighing winds,
And June’s ambrosial bowers.
But still this dear autumn time
Is tender and subtly sweet,
Though littered by fallen leaves
Rustling sad at my feet.
As lives that are good and true
Fade out like an autumn day;
More beautiful at the last,
They serenely pass away.
So all the hills are enwrapped
In the hazy, dreamy light
Of the Indian summertime—
A season of calm delight.
Ah! little pale fallen leaf,
Type, thou, of man’s short hour—
To bud and bloom for a span,
And fade as the leaf and flower.
ASTRAY.
I have not a cent in the world,
And I’ve left my father’s home
Out in the hard world to wander,
Friendless, poor, and alone.
I have sought in vain for a place
To earn my daily bread,
A shelter from the winter’s storm,
And a place to lay my head.
But cold are the bosoms I meet,
Aye, cold as the drifting snow;
I’m turned away from their doors,
And I know not where to go.
All day I’ve struggled along
Through the weary wastes of snow,
And I’m tired almost to death,
But who will care now, or know?
The night is closing around me,
And fierce is the angry sky;
I’m hungry and faint and helpless—
Must I sink by the way and die?
’Tis strange in this terrible hour
That thoughts of my childhood’s days
Should pass like a dream before me
In all their innocent ways.