You lingering sparse leaves of me on winter-nearing boughs, And I some well-shorn tree of field or orchard-row; You tokens diminute and lorn -- (not now the flush of May, or July clover-bloom -- no grain of August now;) You pallid banner-staves -- you pennants valueless -- you overstay'd of time, Yet my soul-dearest leaves confirming all the rest, The faithfulest -- hardiest -- last. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN INVOCATION; SONG, FR. REMORSE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ALASKA by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER INSOMNIA by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS A SONNET. ON THE PICTURE OF CAVALIER GUARINI PAINTED BY BORGIANNI by PHILIP AYRES THE EAGLE OF SONG by BACCHYLIDES |