Sonnet-Ii

'Tis summer still, yet now and then a leaf Falls from some stately tree. True type of life! How emblamatic of the pangs that grief Wrings from our blighted hopes, that one by one dropp from us in our wrestle with the strife And natural passions of our stately youth. And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun. Each step conducts us through an opening door Into new halls of being, hand in hand With grave Experience, until we command The open, wide-spread autumn fields, and store The full ripe grain of Wisdom and of Truth. As on life's tott'ring precipice we stand, Our sins like withered leaves are blown about the land.