Better be anything
Than a waiter for leaves in spring,
A dreamer of leaves too soon…
You know, you have always known,
That leaves aren’t made over night—
How subtly to the sight
The April onslaught comes,
The hidden sap that hums
Presaging it, the slow
Buds along the bough
Preening before they burst:
You have it all rehearsed—
Then wake at a noise like rain’s
In panic for your pains,
And feel a trembling start
Half as within your heart,
And hear about your head
The loud contagion spread,
Till every branch that’s seen
And others just as green,
Too lofty to be viewed
Or vagrant in a wood
Or captive in a copse
Or blowing on mountain slopes
No mind but yours conceives,
Flash and flutter with leaves.
No posts