Tree in my side yard. By Catherine Chandler, October 15, 2014 |
Autumn in King's Hintock Park
Here by the baring
bough
Raking up leaves,
Often I ponder how
Springtime deceives,--
I, an old woman now,
Raking up leaves.
Here in the avenue
Raking up leaves,
Lords' ladies pass in view,
Until one heaves
Sighs at life's russet hue,
Raking up leaves!
Just as my shape you see
Raking up leaves,
I saw, when fresh and free,
Those memory weaves
Into grey ghosts by me,
Raking up leaves.
Yet, Dear, though one may sigh,
Raking up leaves,
New leaves will dance on high--
Earth never grieves!--
Will not, when missed am I
Raking up leaves.
Raking up leaves,
Often I ponder how
Springtime deceives,--
I, an old woman now,
Raking up leaves.
Here in the avenue
Raking up leaves,
Lords' ladies pass in view,
Until one heaves
Sighs at life's russet hue,
Raking up leaves!
Just as my shape you see
Raking up leaves,
I saw, when fresh and free,
Those memory weaves
Into grey ghosts by me,
Raking up leaves.
Yet, Dear, though one may sigh,
Raking up leaves,
New leaves will dance on high--
Earth never grieves!--
Will not, when missed am I
Raking up leaves.
(by
Thomas Hardy, from Time's Laughingstocks and Other Verses, 1901)
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