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(From “Nature Apostate”)
I.—The Bud CLOSE within a downy cover | |
| Here at rest I lie, | |
| Half awake and half in slumber | |
| While the storms go by. | |
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| Sometimes vague impatient strivings | 5 |
| Stir my life within; | |
| Hopes of being something worthy, | |
| Longing to begin. | |
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| Then again a soft contentment | |
| Broodeth o’er my state; | 10 |
| When the time comes I am ready, | |
| Until then I wait. | |
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II.—The Leaflet Is this then life? ’Tis glorious, so fair! | |
| The sweet soft breezes playing round our rest, | |
| The summer fragrance growing everywhere, | 15 |
| The happy birds low cooing in their nest. | |
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| What meant the fear with which we put on life? | |
| It is all good, and hope comes after joy; | |
| Come anything in this delightsome strife, | |
| Storms cannot daunt us, sunshine cannot cloy. | 20 |
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III.—Summer Leaf Kiss me, kiss me, kingly sun, | |
| Till I glow with crimson light, | |
| Till along my veins shall run | |
| Liquid lustre glistening bright. | |
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| Let thy touch so piercing sweet | 25 |
| Hold me close and thrill me through, | |
| Till I faint with languid heat, | |
| Till for rest from thee I sue; | |
| Hear me not, O king of light! | |
| Let me die within thy sight. | 30 |
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IV.—Autumn Leaf I wonder what has vanished from the world, | |
| It was so bright a little while ago; | |
| And now we leaves upon the branches curled | |
| Hang wearily, just swaying to and fro. | |
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| The sun shines on, the cruel biting sun, | 35 |
| He will not veil one smile to ease our pain; | |
| What matter that, so his great course is run? | |
| The subjects suffer, but the king must reign | |
| We are too weary even to complain. | |
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V.—Fallen The desperate clutch at the last weak hold | 40 |
| Grows looser and looser and looser; | |
| The dizzying leap into depths untold | |
| Comes closer and closer and closer. | |
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| Quivering, shivering, | |
| Drawn from below, | 45 |
| Where shall we vanish to? | |
| How shall we go? | |
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| Leaving the upper air, | |
| Heaviness everywhere, | |
| Fallen on dull despair, | 50 |
| Here we lie low. | |
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VI.—Asleep Let me sleep, it is so sweet to slumber,— | |
| All of sweetness that remaineth still; | |
| Swift the drenching rains and frosts of winter | |
| Rid the earth of worn-out things of ill. | 55 |
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| It may be some good there was within us | |
| May survive this discipline of pain; | |
| May not die but change its outward substance | |
| May revive in other leaves again. | |
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