Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Leaves.




I took this in the woods in the Berkshires last year. It's from my tiny digital camera, so the resolution leaves much to be desired, but the moment was fantastic. The leaves were raining down all over us and the woods smelled like a bright combination of sweet overripe fruit mixed with freshly fallen, newly turned leaves and cool earth.


Leaves
by Elise Brady

How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow.


Love in Autumn
by Sara Teasdale

I sought among the drifting leaves,
The golden leaves that once were green,
To see if Love were hiding there
And peeping out between.

For thro' the silver showers of May
And thro' the summer's heavy heat,
In vain I sought his golden head
And light, fast-flying feet.

Perhaps when all the world is bare
And cruel winter holds the land,
The Love that finds no place to hide
Will run and catch my hand.

I shall not care to have him then,
I shall be bitter and a-cold --
It grows too late for frolicking
When all the world is old.

Then little hiding Love, come forth,
Come forth before the autumn goes,
And let us seek thro' ruined paths
The garden's last red rose.

2 comments:

Fiddler said...

That Sara Teasdale, I tell you! She gets me right *there* every time. Thanks for sharing.

Lynne said...

I had never read that poem until yesterday. It does cause a wistful sigh, doesn't it?