POOR leaf from off thy spray, Withered and torn away, Where dost thou go? I cannot say. The storm has shattered the oak, Which was my only stay, With its inconstant stroke. The West or the howling North From that hour drive me forth From the forest to the plain, From the mountain to the mead. I go where the winds may lead, I go where the storms constrain, Without complaint, without dismay; I go where all else goes-- Where goes joy's leaf of Rose, And glory's leaf of Bay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO LIZBIE BROWNE by THOMAS HARDY THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 78. BODY'S BEAUTY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI BUONAPARTE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE RIVER DUDDON: SONNET 34. AFTER-THOUGHT by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BLIND OLD MILTON by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |