BEFORE THE LEAVES FALL. 



I WONDER if oak and maple, 



Willow and elm and all, 

 Are stirred at heart by the coming 



Of the day their leaves must fall. 

 Do they think of the yellow whirlwind, 



Or know of the crimson spray. 

 That shall be when chill November 



Bears all their leaves away ? 



Perhaps — beside the water 



The willow bends, serene 

 As when her young- leaves glistened 



In a mist of golden green ; 

 But the brave old oak is flushing 



To a wine-red, dark and deep, 

 And maple and elm are blushing 



The blush of a child asleep. 



