As I stood at the door Sheltered out of the wind, Something flew in Which I hardly could find. In the dim gloomy doorway I searched till I found A dry withered leaf Lying down on the ground. With thin pointed claws And a dry dusty skin, -- Sure, a hall is no place For a leaf to be in! Oh where is your tree, And your summer and all, Poor dusty leaf, Whistled into a hall! |