Poems (Ford)/Falling Leaves
For works with similar titles, see Falling Leaves.
FALLING LEAVES.
They 're slowly drifting downward,
With low and whispering sound,
In hues of fleeting beauty
Painting the russet ground.
What sombre shadows Fancy
Into our life-web weaves,
As autumn winds are wailing
Among the falling leaves.
With low and whispering sound,
In hues of fleeting beauty
Painting the russet ground.
What sombre shadows Fancy
Into our life-web weaves,
As autumn winds are wailing
Among the falling leaves.
Out in the sighing forest
They rustle 'neath our tread,
Like the half-smothered echoes
Of voices from the dead;
Or like some wandering spirit
That, sad and restless, grieves
O'er all its bright days wasted,
Moan the sad autumn leaves.
They rustle 'neath our tread,
Like the half-smothered echoes
Of voices from the dead;
Or like some wandering spirit
That, sad and restless, grieves
O'er all its bright days wasted,
Moan the sad autumn leaves.
Like them our lives are changing,
Like them we too must fade,
When pass our few brief seasons
Of sunshine and of shade;
And though perhaps our passing
Some home or heart bereaves,
We're soon no more remembered
Than withered autumn leaves.
Like them we too must fade,
When pass our few brief seasons
Of sunshine and of shade;
And though perhaps our passing
Some home or heart bereaves,
We're soon no more remembered
Than withered autumn leaves.
Oh, moaning leaves of autumn,
As sad were earthly life,
Was there no glorious future,
Undimmed by grief and strife,
Where heart-strings are unbroken,
And no sad spirit grieves,—
Where are no faded flowers
Or withered autumn leaves.
As sad were earthly life,
Was there no glorious future,
Undimmed by grief and strife,
Where heart-strings are unbroken,
And no sad spirit grieves,—
Where are no faded flowers
Or withered autumn leaves.