Poems (E. L. F.)/The withered leaf
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THE WITHERED LEAF.
One day a seared and withered leaf
Across my path was blown;
I stooped to pick the record up,
Which thus to me had flown.
Across my path was blown;
I stooped to pick the record up,
Which thus to me had flown.
It imaged forth the stately tree
Which once this leaf adorned,
In all the pride of beauteous sheen,
That now lay lone and scorned.
Which once this leaf adorned,
In all the pride of beauteous sheen,
That now lay lone and scorned.
And then methought of man's career—
His riches, honour, power,
Which, by adversity's cold sweep,
May vanish in an hour.
His riches, honour, power,
Which, by adversity's cold sweep,
May vanish in an hour.
This leaf to me the lesson read—
Severe, yet sadly true;
When man is by misfortune tossed,
He's lone, and spurned too.
Severe, yet sadly true;
When man is by misfortune tossed,
He's lone, and spurned too.