In spring and summer winds may blow
In spring and summer winds may blow,And rains fall after, hard and fast;The tender leaves, if beaten low,Shine but the more for shower and blast
But when their fated hour arrives,When reapers long have left the field,When maidens rifle turn'd-up hives,And their last juice fresh apples yield,
A leaf perhaps may still remainUpon some solitary tree,Spite of the wind and of the rain . . .A thing you heed not if you see.
At last it falls. Who cares? Not one:And yet no power on earth can everReplace the fallen leaf uponIts spray, so easy to dissever.
If such be love, I dare not say.Friendship is such, too well I know:I have enjoyed my summer day;'Tis past; my leaf now lies below.
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