I LUSH summer lit the trees to green; But in the ditch hard by Lay dying boughs some hand unseen Had lopped when first with festal mien They matched their mates on high. It seemed a melancholy fate That leaves but brought to birth so late Should rust there, red and numb, In quickened fall, while all their race Still joyed aloft in pride of place With store of days to come. II At autumn-end I fared that way, And traced those boughs fore-hewn Whose leaves, awaiting their decay In slowly browning shades, still lay Where they had lain in June And now, no less embrowned and curst Than if they had fallen with the first, Nor known a morning more, Lay there alongside, dun and sere, Those that at my last wandering here Had length of days in store. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC RETROSPECTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 21 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE BOROUGH: LETTER 22. POOR OF THE BOROUGH. PETER GRIMES by GEORGE CRABBE EVENING IN ENGLAND by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE SONNET: 23. ON HIS DECEASED WIFE by JOHN MILTON |