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.