The rude and the reckless wind,
ruthlessly strips
The leaf that last lingered on
old forest tree;
The widowed branch wails for
the love it has lost;
The parted leaf pines for
Its glories foregone.
Now sereing, in sadness, and
quite broken-hearted,
It mutters mild music, and
swan-like on-fleeteth
A burden of melody,
musing of death,
To some desert spot where,
unknown and unnoted,
Its woes and its wanderings may
both find a tomb,
Far far from the land where
it grew in its gladness,
And hung from its brave branch,
freshly and green,
Bathed in blythe dews and
soft shimmering in sunshine,
From morn until even-tide,
A beautiful joy!