The Master And The Leaves

I We are budding, master, budding, We of your favourite tree; March drought and April flooding Arouse us merrily. The stemlets brightly studding; And yet you do not see. II We are fully woven for summer In modes of limpest green, The twitterer and the hummer Here rest their rounds between, While like a 'long-roll' drummer The night-hawk thrills the treen. III We are turning yellow, master, And next we are turning red, And faster then and faster Shall seek our rooty bed— All wasted in disaster The magic show we spread! IV 'I mark your early going, And that you'll soon be clay, I have seen your summer showing As in my youthful day; But why I seem unknowing Is too deep down to say.'