The Last Leaf

THOU last pale relic from yon widow'd tree, Hovering awhile in air, as if to leave Thy native sprig reluctant, how I grieve, And heave the sigh of kindred sympathy, That thou art fall'n!-for I too whilom play'd Upon the topmost bough of youth's gay spring; Have sported blithe on summer's golden wing; And now I see my fleeting autumn fade. Yet, 'sear and yellow leaf,' though thou and I Thus far resemble, and this frame, like thee, In the cold silent ground be doom'd to lie, Thou never more will climb thy parent tree; But I, through faith in my Redeemer, trust, That I shall rise again, ev'n from the dust.